Chance Encounter
by Telcontar Rulz
Summary: AU. During their journey, the Fellowship meet up with a stranger not of their world. Will he be of help to them or would he hinder them? Kingdom of HeavenLotR crossover.
1. Campfires and Whirlpools

**Chance Encounter**

**Chapter 1: Campfires and Whirlpools.**

A/N: This is my first ever fanfic so please be nice and review. If you don't like crossovers then don't read it. Also could be slightly AU.

The night was dark for the new moon gave no light to the inhabitants of Middle Earth. Clouds veiled the stars. There was nothing except for the small group of people making camp on the coarse grass.

Pippin wanted a fire, or to be exact, he wanted a fire so he could have a hot meal. For some strange reason that was beyond the hobbit's comprehension, Gandalf had forbidden them to light a fire. Stranger still, Merry had agreed with the wizard.

"You don't know who might be watchin' us, Pip," his cousin had said. Pippin thought that the entire Fellowship was being overcautious. He did not like his supper cold and he disliked standing watch even more. Staring into the dark for two hours was not his idea of fun. Fortunately for him, Boromir noticed how much he hated standing watch and would often do it for him. Pippin was extremely grateful that the generous man of Gondor was part of their Fellowship.

Sam looked wistfully at his pots and sighed. He, like Pippin, wanted a hot meal but he understood the dangers of making a fire. Not for the first time, he wished that the Ring had not gone to Frodo. Hobbits were not supposed to travel so far from home. Moreover, they were not supposed to go on quests to save the world. That was supposed to be the responsibility of the Big Folk.

Aragorn was taking the first watch of the night. His keen Ranger's eyes peered into the darkness, discerning the slightest movements. He tried to concentrate but his thoughts kept on wandering back to Imladris. He pulled out his pipe then decided against lighting it. Even the slightest amount of light might betray their position to the enemy. He felt the presence of someone behind him and he turned around to see the dark silhouette of Legolas.

"You seem restless, Estel," said the elf softly.

"I was thinking of our time back in Imladris," explained the man.

"Ah," said Legolas knowingly and Aragorn felt the urge to hit the elf on the head. It was slightly difficult to do so as he was sitting down whilst the elf was standing.

A light shot from the sky down to the ground some miles south of their camp, startling the entire Fellowship. Boromir leapt to his feet and unsheathed his sword. Pippin choked on his water and Frodo's hand flew to the chain on his neck.

"Mithrandir, what was that?" asked Legolas.

"I'm not sure," replied Gandalf. "Whatever it is that fell from the sky, we will come across it sometime tomorrow, if it hasn't moved from where it fell."

* * *

Balian stared out across the dark, tossing waves. His mind was on Jerusalem, on Sibylla. She had refused to relinquish her power and she chose to stay in the East. He could have stayed and become her Champion but he had had enough of politics. Deep down, he was hurt that she had chosen power over him. "The heart will mend," Brother John, the Hospitaller, had said. Balian doubted that his ever would. One particular large bolt of lightning struck the water, narrowly missing the ship that he was in. Suddenly, the water started to swirl, creating a whirlpool that was dragging the ship down. Everyone panicked and even Balian was afraid. He did not want to be pulled down into a watery grave. The mast cracked and the ship broke into two. Balian clung on desperately to a crate full of spices, trying to keep his head above water. The last thing that he remembered was the cold salty water flooding his mouth and nostrils.

* * *

"So what do you think fell from the sky last night?" asked Pippin. Merry rolled his eyes. His cousin had been asking everyone ever since the event.

"A comet," replied Frodo. He too, was getting tired of the young Took's question.

"Peregrin Took," growled Gandalf. "If you do not shut that infernal mouth of yours, I shall sew your lips together."

From the back of the column, Aragorn snorted and broke into a coughing fit. Legolas' lips were pressed tightly together as the elf fought to suppress his laughter. Boromir, who did not know the wizard quite as well as the others did, looked genuinely surprised. The hobbit in question, much to his credit, shut his mouth and sulked.

Merry came up behind Pippin and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "If we walk a little faster, I daresay we would come across whatever it is quite soon," he said. "It fell just behind that boulder."

Pippin was not the only one whose mind was on the mysterious falling object. Legolas and Gimli were also debating about the same topic.

"I say it was just a rock," rumbled the dwarf.

"How do you know it was not a fallen star, or a sign from the Valar?" demanded Legolas.

"You elves have an overactive imagination," snorted Gimli.

"And dwarves lack the ability to think beyond their limited knowledge," retorted the elf.

Sam seemed so amazed to see one of the Firstborn behaving in such a childish manner that he could only stare at Legolas and say nothing.

"Alright children," said Aragorn to both the elf and the dwarf. "Stop arguing. We'll find out soon enough."

"Wait a moment…" began Legolas indignantly.

"Who's the child here?" finished Gimli. They glared at Aragorn who shrugged, and left them to their endless debating. He caught up with Gandalf, who was at the front.

"We should be just about there," he said to the wizard.

"You want to know, don't you?" said Gandalf.

"Well, a little curiosity is good for the health," said Aragorn.

Gandalf chuckled. "Go on ahead then, if you are so curious," he said.

"Do you think it's safe?" asked Aragorn.

"It's only a couple of yards away," said Gandalf. "We'll be able to help you if you find trouble."

Aragorn sprinted ahead. Legolas saw him leave the group and left Gimli in mid-sentence to follow him. Not to be outdone, the dwarf cursed and ran after the elf. The man and the elf reached the boulder together and stared down at their find. It was a man, lying face down on the ground. His clothes were damp and his dark hair was stiff with a white powdery substance. Aragorn knelt down next to the man and felt for a pulse. "He's still alive," he said to no one in particular.

Legolas also knelt. The elf took some of the white substance from the man's hair. He rubbed it between his fingers and sniffed it. Then he cautiously licked it. "Salt," said Legolas. "He's covered in salt."

Aragorn turned the man around. He looked familiar but he did not know where he had seen him before. The man's skin was dark like an Easterling's. A red puckered scar ran down the side of his face from his temple to his jaw. His beard and moustache were also dark and neatly trimmed. His hands were rough and calloused, much like Aragorn's own. A finely crafted sword with a red jewel embedded in its hilt was strapped to the man's belt.

"Where could he have come from?" asked Legolas. Aragorn looked at his friend and suddenly, he understood why the man looked so familiar.

"He looks like you, Legolas," said Aragorn.

"Who looks like the pointy-eared elvish princeling?" said Gimli, catching up with them and puffing hard.

"This man here," replied Aragorn "the man who fell from the sky."

The rest of the Fellowship soon reached them and they made camp there for the night. They stripped the man of his wet clothing and brushed as much salt of him as they could. Since he was more or less of the same size as Boromir, they dressed him in some of Boromir's spare garments. Not once did the stranger wake.

Pippin was tempted to shout in the man's ear or do anything to wake him. The stranger had a lot of questions to answer.


	2. The Blacksmith

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I forgot to put a disclaimer for the first chapter so here it is:- I don't own anything or anyone that you recognize. They all belong to their respective creators/directors. I'll put them back when I'm through with them.

**Chapter 2: The Blacksmith**

Once again, night fell and Gandalf refused to let the Fellowship have a fire, despite pleas from Pippin. The stranger was still unconscious, much to their annoyance. They were silent as they sat in a circle close to each other, each immersed in his own thoughts. The only sound was the constant scraping of rock against metal as Boromir sharpened his sword. No one noticed when the stranger's eyes slowly opened.

* * *

Balian found himself staring at a dark sky riddled with stars. He was lying on dry, hard ground and he had no recollection of how he got there. All he remembered was his head slipping beneath the dark turbulent waves. As he became more aware of his surroundings, he could hear muffled whispers somewhere close by. Cautiously, he turned his face towards the sounds. Less than a foot away from him sat a group of nine people. Four of them were so small that they could only be children. Their garb was strange to him, some more than others. What struck him as most unusual was the lack of a campfire on a cold night such as this. He tried to lift his head for a better look but fell back with a small groan. His body ached fiercely and his head swam.

"He's awake," he heard someone say. A hand lifted his head while a cup was put to his lips.

"Drink," commanded a different voice. Cool sweet water flooded his mouth and soothed his parched throat. When his vision cleared, he saw nine pairs of concerned eyes looking down at him.

"Where am I?" he asked, squinting up at them.

"We are near Hollin," said the old man with a long grey beard and solemn grey eyes.

"Is that in Europe, or the Holy Land?" asked Balian. He had never heard of a place called Hollin but then, he had not heard of Ibelin before his father told him of its existence.

The old man looked at one of his companions, a man of about forty with dark silver-streaked hair. The man shrugged and the old man turned his attention back to Balian.

"We know naught of that which you speak," said the old man, whose voice was unusually strong for one of such a great age. He stroked his beard. "Where do you hail from, stranger?"

"France," replied the confused blacksmith. How could anyone not know about Europe or the Holy Land?

The dark haired man and old greybeard exchanged looks again.

"Who are you?" asked the one with dark hair.

"I am the blacksmith," said Balian.

* * *

Aragorn sighed with exasperation, causing Legolas to smirk. The man glared at the elven prince who tried to look innocent.

"If you are a blacksmith," said Aragorn "how did you come by such a sword?" He indicated the stranger's fine weapon.

"Family heirloom," replied the stranger. He did not seem like he was about to say anymore on the matter.

"What is your name?" asked Gandalf, hoping that the stranger's name might help them to find out where he was from. He was dark, like one of the Haradrim but his clothes were definitely not from Harad. Neither was his accent. The more they questioned him, the more confused they became.

"Balian," replied the man. He would not elaborate.

"Balian," repeated Gandalf, trying out the name on his tongue. It did not sound like a name from Harad, nor was it a name of the Rohirrim or the Gondorians. This was getting stranger but the moment and Gandalf did not like it. What if Balian –if that was indeed his real name- a spy or was he just an innocent blacksmith as he claimed to be.

Balian did not want to give up his true identity. He had become too famous over the last few months for his liking. He did not want to be forced back into fighting to regain Jerusalem. He'd had enough of war to last a lifetime. He told them his real name only because he thought it was a common name. From the old man's expression, it apparently was not.

"Balian," cut in a glowing blonde being with a piercing blue gaze. "What do you know of Mordor?"

The question surprised the blacksmith. "Nothing," he replied. What in the world was Mordor? Was he _supposed _to know anything about it?

Legolas scrutinized the man's expression. It was quite blank. Either the man was a very good actor or he was genuinely confused. He looked at Aragorn to see what he thought of all this. Aragorn looked just as confused as Balian. The elf decided to try something else. "When we found you, you were covered in salt and your clothing was damp," he said. "Why?"

"I was shipwrecked," replied Balian "in the ocean."

Now Gandalf knew that the man was no spy. If he was a spy, he would have had a more credible answer. Hollin was nowhere near the sea. Something strange was going on.

Balian could sense the relief his interrogators felt. He looked at them for an explanation as to why they had been so suspicious. None came and he was not about to openly ask for one.

"You must be hungry," said the one with dark hair, handing him some travel rations.

"Thank you," said Balian, taking the food gratefully. His stomach ached from being so empty. Then he noticed that he was dressed in clothes that were not his own.

"These garments…" he began, looking at the dark haired man.

"Your clothes were damp and salty," replied the man. "Boromir over there lent you some of his spares." He indicated a younger man with light-brown hair and a serious face.

"I thank you for your generosity," Balian said to Boromir. All of a sudden, it seemed as if all the suspicions of this strange group had evaporated. They all started talking at once, introducing themselves.

"My name's Pippin," said one of the small beings which Balian had mistook for children. "I'm a hobbit."

"I'm Merry," said another. "I'm Pippin's cousin."

Balian nodded at these enthusiastic 'hobbits', unsure of what to say.

"Gimli at your service," said a short, stout creature with masses of red hair and a thick red beard.

"Er…Balian at yours," he said awkwardly. The creature had to be a dwarf. There was no question.

Gimli chuckled. "You'll get used to it lad," he said. Balian warmed up to him immediately. He reminded him of Brother John who was always uncommonly kind and cheerful.

The food strengthened him and he managed to sit up by himself. The blonde being was watching him carefully and Balian nodded at him to tell him that he did not need help. For a while, they looked at each other. Finally, the blonde one spoke.

"I am Legolas," he said so quietly that only Balian could hear him.

"I…" began Balian but the Legolas cut him off.

"I heard you the first time you told us your name," he said.

Balian did not know what to say to that so he kept silent.

* * *

The next morning, Balian was woken by the sound of hobbits fighting over food. He watched with silent amusement as Merry and Pippin squabbled over the last bit of spiced sausage until Gandalf stopped them with a piercing glare. The rest of the Fellowship ignored the young hobbits. They were used to their antics.

Aragorn watched as the stranger offered to help Sam carry some of the supplies. He seemed to have no harmful intentions but the ranger was not sure. His story was too strange to believe yet it could not have been a lie.

Sam seemed reluctant to let anyone touch his precious pots but after reassurances from Balian, he finally let the man share his load. The one called Frodo seemed unusually nervous. Balian did not question the hobbit, sensing that it was none of his business and that it would be better if he did not know. Pippin's complaints about how heavy his pack was distracted Balian and he hurriedly offered to help the young hobbit. Unlike Sam, Pippin readily agreed.

**A/N: **Well, here's the second chapter. It's not very action packed yet but I promise you it will get more exciting once they reach Moria. After all, Balian has never seen anything like it before. Thanks to all those who reviewed. (You know who you are) As for all the others who read but neglect to give this poor author a comment or two, you'd better do it or I'll send my Balrogs after you. smiles evilly


	3. Change of Plans

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything or anyone that you recognize. They all belong to their respective creators/directors. I'll put them back when I'm through with them.

**Chapter 3: Change of Plans**

The Company, along with its latest addition, carried on travelling south towards the Gap of Rohan. Legolas watched Balian closely, searching for any clue as to what sort of man the blacksmith was. He seemed like the quiet sort who readily agreed to anything. The elf wondered what sort of background the man had and where he had gotten his scars. Balian did not seem to have opinions at all yet he must have as he did not seem like a simpleton. He just seemed to be content helping out whenever he could.

They continued walking day and night, stopping only for slight rests. Gandalf did not want to stop during the day at all but after the hobbits' constant nagging, he reluctantly agreed to let them stop for lunch on the third day after Balian joined them. Upon stopping on a small rocky hill, Sam pulled out the last of the sausages and set about preparing a meal. Boromir, Merry and Pippin practised swordplay. Frodo watched Sam cook. Balian brushed down the pony as best as he could and fed their beast of burden a few apples. He looked up to see Legolas smiling.

"You like horses?" asked the elf.

"I shoe them for a living," replied Balian.

"Is that all you do for a living?" questioned Legolas.

"I make farming tools and weapons, amongst other things," said the man.

"How did you get that scar?"

Balian smiled a little and did not answer. "Some things are better left forgotten," he said. Legolas cocked his head and did not ask anymore questions. So the man had a past that he wished to forget. He left Balian tending to the pony and went to stare into the distance. Behind him, Legolas could hear Gimli giving Gandalf a piece of his mind. Legolas shook his head. The foolish dwarf wanted to go through Moria.

A dark cloud appeared in the distance. Legolas frowned. It was unnatural to see a single dark cloud in an otherwise blue sky. As it approached, the elf realised that it was moving against the wind. He now knew it was not a cloud and he felt extremely uneasy. Other members of the Fellowship seem to have noticed it too. He could hear Boromir and Gimli talking about it. The dark shape drew nearer and the elf's keen eyes could see that it was actually a group of small individual flying things.

"Crebain, from Dunland!" he shouted.

"Hide!" cried Aragorn. He did not need to say it twice. Everyone went scrambling for cover. The blacksmith even attempted to hide the pony. Unfortunately, there was not a hiding place that was big enough to hide the beast of burden. They lay low and stayed still until the flock of black birds had passed. Gandalf was the first to emerge and the rest followed one by one.

"Spies of Saruman," said the wizard with disdain. "The passage south is being watched. We must take the pass of Caradhras."

Boromir looked up in dismay and a murmur rippled through the Company. Balian was confused. Why was this such a bad thing?

On seeing his confusion, Aragorn pointed up to the mountains that loomed above them. "We're going there," said the ranger simply. Now Balian understood.

* * *

The way up the steep snowy slopes of the mountains was hazardous. The hobbits often slipped and lost their footing in the thick snow and it was up to Aragorn who brought up the rear to catch them. They were almost near the top of the slope they were climbing up when Frodo fell. He tumbled like a ball down the slope and came to a stop only when Aragorn caught him. The first thing the hobbit did after he was helped to his feet was put a hand to his throat. He seemed to panic when he could not find what he expected to find there. It was only then that Balian noticed Boromir was lagging behind the rest of the group. The man from Gondor stooped down to pick up something from the snow. He lifted it before his face and said something which Balian could not hear. He seemed to be in a trance until Aragorn called out to him.

"Boromir," said the ranger sharply. "Give the Ring to Frodo."

Tension was escalating and to the spectators, this could easily turn into a violent confrontation. Fortunately, Boromir did as he was told.

'So Frodo is carrying a ring,' thought Balian. 'Why is that ring so important?'

* * *

The Fellowship soon reached an icy cliff face. There was a narrow path along it covered in a thick layer of snow that reached the men's waists. Aragorn, Balian and Boromir each carried a hobbit on their backs while Pippin perched miserably on top the luggage on the pony's back. The winds were strong and it pressed them against the cliff face. The snow stung their faces.

"We should stop!" Aragorn shouted to Gandalf, struggling to be heard above the howling of the wind. "We can't go on much longer without rest. This cliff face can shelter us from the wind."

"Shelter?!" muttered Sam who was huddled on Balian's back. "If this is shelter then one wall and no roof make a house!"

Balian smiled. He agreed with the hobbit's analysis of Aragorn's statement. He lowered Sam to the ground and leaned against the cliff with a sigh.

"Tired?" asked Legolas. Balian noticed that the elf was able to walk on top of the snow and he seemed unaffected by the cold.

"Hobbits are heavier than they look," said Balian, mustering a smile. He had seen and heard one of the legendary debates between Legolas and Gimli and he had no desire to get involved in one.

"Well, you were carrying Sam," said Legolas. "He carries a lot of supplies."

Balian remembered what had happened between Aragorn and Boromir on the slope and he decided to ask Legolas about it. "Legolas…" he began. "About that ring that Frodo carries…"

"What about it?" asked the elf sharply.

"Why is it so important?"

Legolas sighed. "The ring which Frodo carries is the One Ring," he explained. "It is the key to Sauron's success."

"Who is Sauron?" asked Balian

"Sauron is the Dark Lord," replied Legolas. "He is evil and he desires to rule over all of Middle-Earth. Sauron's fate is tied to that of the Ring. The only way to kill him is to destroy the Ring."

"Then why don't you destroy it?" asked Balian. "Why travel all this way?"

"The Ring cannot be destroyed by any craft we possess," said Legolas, quoting Elrond. "It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. Frodo chose to carry out this task and the Fellowship was chosen to help him by protecting him."

"Why did Boromir take so long to give it back to Frodo then, if it is indeed Frodo's burden?"

Legolas looked around cautiously. On seeing that no one was paying any attention to them, he moved closer to Balian. "The Ring draws people to it," he said in a low voice. "It corrupts minds by giving false hopes and promises. It calls to each and every one of us. Sauron can feel it too and if anyone puts it on, Sauron will see him."

"I haven't felt it," said Balian.

"That is because you have not seen it," Legolas told him. "Once you see it, it will start calling to you. Do not believe anything that it tells you."

After the brief rest, the Company carried on. Gandalf had given them each a mouthful of miruvor to refresh them. Aragorn insisted on swapping hobbits with Balian.

"Sam's too heavy for one man to carry all the time," insisted the ranger. "Frodo's lighter." Balian did not want to argue so he did as the ranger suggested. Frodo was indeed much lighter than Sam, but he was also tenser. Balian felt that this hobbit did not trust him as much as the other hobbits did. He couldn't blame him. The Ring must have affected the hobbit. It made Balian nervous just knowing that he was carrying the Ringbearer.

As soon as Balian had the hobbit on his back, he knew that Legolas told him no lie. He could feel himself being tempted by the Ring. It promised him power and most of all, Sibylla. It took all his willpower to ignore its call.

The going became more difficult as they continued their way through the pass of Caradhras. The flying snowflakes half blinded them. Legolas, who was not encumbered by the snow, brought up the rear. He quickly overtook the entire company then stopped.

"There is a foul voice on the air," he said.

"It's Saruman!" shouted Gandalf. Before Balian could wonder about who or what Saruman was, snow tumbled down from above them, burying the entire company. Balian was knocked off the narrow path and the Ringbearer along with him.

**A/N:** Heheheh. An evil cliffie! This chapter contains quotes from the FotR movie. Thanks to all those readers who reviewed. I love you guys! ;)


	4. Awakenings

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything or anyone that you recognize. They all belong to their respective creators/directors. I'll put them back when I'm through with them.

**Chapter 4: Awakenings**

'This is it,' thought Balian as he fell through the air 'I fall to certain death.' Brother John appeared before him. The Hospitaller's face was streaked with dirt and blood but he had the same amused smile that he always wore.

"All death is certain," said the monk's voice in Balian's mind. Somehow, the memory of his farewell comforted Balian. He felt a sharp pain in his side as his body hit a rock that was jutting out from the cliff. He cried out but the wind drowned out his voice. The edges of his vision darkened. He did not feel the impact as he hit the snow-covered ground.

* * *

Pain emanated from his side. It was cold. He was tired, so tired. He wanted to sleep but something made him open his eyes. White. There was white everywhere. For a moment, he could not remember where he was, or why he was there. Then everything came flooding back and Balian started to panic.

Frodo. Frodo fell with him.

Where was Frodo?

He pushed himself up through sheer will and wiped the snow from his face. "Frodo!" he tried to shout, but it only came out as a hoarse whisper. He looked about wildly, desperately trying to locate the hobbit.

A small bump lay concealed under a cold white blanket. It was the prone form of the Ringbearer, lying face down. Balian stumbled to Frodo's side. He fell onto his knees beside the hobbit. "Frodo," he whispered softly. With shaking hands, he reached out to turn the hobbit over.

Frodo's face was pale and his lips were blue. To Balian's relief, he was still breathing. The blacksmith quickly took the hobbit into his arms and wrapped his cloak about both of them. He winced as the movement aggravated the wound in his side. With fumbling hands that were numb with cold, he tried rub some warmth into the hobbit's hands and feet. He looked up at the sky. It was starting to snow heavily and he needed to find them some shelter before they were buried in an icy grave. Picking up the unconscious Ringbearer, Balian got up stiffly and walked along the base of the cliff. After what seemed like a century, he found a small recess in the cliff face which could fit the two of them. After sending up a grateful prayer to the heavens, he crawled inside. It was cramped but he was glad that they were out of the snow.

A glint of gold caught his eye. The Ring; he had forgotten all about it. It had slipped out of Frodo's shirt and it now called to him, inviting him to put it on. It promised him that it would grant him the strength to survive in this bleak situation. It offered him the power to destroy Sauron. His body and mind seemed to be out of control. His hand itched to touch the smooth gold. Slowly, he reached out…

"…do not believe anything that it tells you…"said Legolas' voice inside his head. "…it corrupts minds by giving false hopes and promises… It must be cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came…"

Balian hesitated. 'Do not do this!' cried one part of his mind, but another part

–one that was alien to him- urged him to put it on.

In his indecisiveness, he saw Godfrey as he last remembered seeing the old knight.

"…safeguard the helpless, and do no wrong" said his father in a weak voice. "That is your oath…"

Balian's hand reached up to touch his cheek, feeling the phantom sting of the slap his father had dealt him. Godfrey would not have wanted his son to fall to the Ring's power. He could not disappoint his father, the man who'd had so much faith in him. He could not give into the Ring's persuasion. His mind cleared as if someone had thrown cold water into his face. The Ring was Frodo's burden. As a member of the Fellowship,

-whether by chance or by choice- he would help Frodo to complete his task. Carefully, he slipped the Ring back under the hobbit's shirt and held him closer. They would survive this, and the Ring would be destroyed. He would see it done.

* * *

"Where did they go?" shouted Pippin desperately, peering over the edge of the path. "I can't see them anywhere!"

"No one can see anything through this dratted snow," came Gimli's gruff voice.

"Do you see them, Legolas?" asked Aragorn anxiously. His eyes were full of fear.

"No," replied the keen-sighted elf. "This snow is impeding my vision."

"We must find Frodo!" shouted Boromir. "It isn't safe for him to be all alone!"

"We have to go down and search for them when it stops snowing so heavily," said Legolas. "Hopefully _they_ haven't gone too far." He wanted to add 'if they survived' to the end of his sentence but it seemed too morbid and he did not want to discourage the rest of the Fellowship. They were probably all thinking the same thing anyway. Boromir's omission of Balian had not gone unnoticed by the elf. That was why he had stressed the word 'they' to remind the man from Gondor that they were searching for two people and that Balian was one of them.

"We should go down now," insisted Boromir. "What if orcs find Frodo?" Apparently he was deliberately omitting the blacksmith.

"Balian is with him," said Aragorn, who obviously did not notice how hostile to each other Legolas and Boromir were. "He should be relatively safe." None of them wanted to consider the possibility that one or both of the pair could be injured or worse.

"I don't trust the man," said Boromir. "We don't know where he is from, or what his purpose is or … whether he can resist the Ring."

Legolas turned to Boromir sharply, fixing the man with an icy stare. "I have faith in Balian," he said coldly. 'And I wonder Boromir,' he thought 'are these really the reasons why you don't trust him, or do you have other motives?

Aragorn looked up in surprise. Legolas did not trust anyone easily. The blacksmith must indeed be an extraordinary person if the elven prince had faith in him.

"Legolas is right," said Gandalf. "We cannot search for them with it snowing so heavily. More likely than not we will fall to our deaths if we try to make our way down right now. We shall wait for this storm to pass before we search for them."

* * *

When Frodo woke, he could not see anything. It was dark and his head hurt. He was cold. As he slowly regained consciousness, he realized he was not alone. "Gandalf?" he whispered.

"Frodo," said a voice, too young to be Gandalf's "Frodo, stay still."

"Aragorn?"

"I wish he was here with us. He would know what to do."

Slowly, Frodo opened his eyes. "Balian?" he said, squinting up at the dark face above him. "What happened?"

"I fell," said Balian. "I'm sorry."

"How could you fall?" demanded Frodo. He was more frightened than he was willing to admit. He did not like the thought of being alone with a man he was not quite ready to trust.

"The snow knocked me off," said Balian softly. "I'm sorry."

"What are we going to do now?"

"The sun has fallen. We will wait until morning before we start looking for the others. Are you injured?"

"My head hurts." Frodo then realised that Balian might also have been hurt during the fall. "What about you?"

"I've had worse, I think," said Balian. "Rest, Frodo; you're going to need it."

**A/N:** Alright, so Balian and Frodo are isolated from everyone else. And why doesn't Boromir like Balian? Any suggestions. Reviews keep me inspired (hint hint)


	5. Attack in the Dark

**Chance Encounter **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything or anyone that you recognize. They all belong to their respective creators/directors. I'll put them back when I'm through with them.

_This chapter is dedicated to Rebellwithoutacause and Spellcaster Hikaru. You guys are great!_

**Chapter 5: Attack in the Dark**

Balian did not realize that he had fallen asleep until he was woken by a jolt of pain. Frodo had kicked him in the ribs while dreaming. Cursing himself for being off guard, he tried to stretch to relieve the cramps in his muscles. Night had fallen and it was pitch-black. He couldn't make out anything in the gloom.

He winced as he accidentally bumped his wound. It would need tending before it festered and killed him. 'I'll look at it in the morning,' he decided. 'Then we'll go find the others. They must be waiting for us.'

* * *

The Fellowship sat miserably next to each other. Even Bill the pony seemed distressed. Their thoughts dwelt on their missing companions. "Could they have survived the fall?" asked Pippin. "It's a long way down." 

"They will have survived," insisted Legolas. "Balian is strong and Frodo is not as helpless as he seems."

"They'll be cold an' hungry an' scared," murmured Sam. "They weren't carryin' no food."

"We'll find them in the morning," Aragorn assured the distraught little gardener although he was not feeling so optimistic inside.

"We should never have entrusted the blacksmith with the Ringbearer," said Boromir sourly. "He doesn't know the lie of the land and he won't be able to protect Frodo if they are attacked."

"Don't be so sure of that, son of Denethor," said Gandalf. "There's more to the blacksmith than that which he shows. He's a better man than you think."

"He's a blacksmith," said Boromir with disgust although Legolas sensed that this was not the source of the man's discomfort. "He's not a warrior. He won't know how to defend Frodo."

"Are you implying that you do?" said Legolas. "He carries a sword and I am certain he knows how to use it."

"Quiet, you two," commanded Gandalf. "Frodo and Balian are missing, possibly injured. They do not need us to bicker amongst ourselves."

Both the man and the elf sullenly swallowed the words they were about to throw at each other. Legolas knew that Gandalf was right, as usual. They needed to cooperate to find both Frodo and Balian. Moreover, Boromir's words had sown a seed of doubt in his mind and he began to question Balian's prowess. The man was a blacksmith, a craftsman. Did he really know how to protect the Ringbearer and their quest?

Aragorn noticed that Legolas seemed unsettled and he put a hand on the elf's shoulder. "What are you thinking about?" he asked.

Legolas shook his head. "I was just wondering about the truth of Boromir's words," he said softly. "Does Balian truly possess the skill to protect Frodo?"

Gimli overheard this statement. "Whaddya mean he doesn't have the skill, elf?" he demanded gruffly, although no one could miss the underlying concern in his voice. "Balian works with metal! He _makes_ weapons; of course he can wield them! He's a blacksmith, for Aulë's sake, not some bloody stargazer!"

The last statement was meant to infuriate the elf and thus lighten the Fellowship's mood but it only drew a small smile from Legolas.

"I hope that you're right, dwarf," said Legolas "except you might want to know that _this_ stargazer can also wield weapons, with lethal results."

"Whatever," snorted Gimli "you'll just chop off one of your ridiculous braids, that's what'll happen."

* * *

_He was back in Bag End. A fire was blazing in the hearth and he had a soft blanket wrapped around him. He was curled up comfortably in Bilbo's favourite armchair. It felt warm. He pushed himself deeper into the chair. Suddenly, the chair moved…_

Frodo opened his eyes and they slowly adjusted to the dim light. He was not in Bag End and he was not curled up in an armchair. He looked up at Balian's face. The man was sleeping. Even in his dreams, the blacksmith looked serious. His lips moved slightly as he mumbled "Rise a knight."

'What is he talking about?' wondered Frodo. 'What knight?'

"Balian," he said softly. The man jerked awake.

"Is it morning already?" he asked, shaking away the sleep from his mind. He looked outside. The snow had abated.

"We should leave now," said Balian. "They'll be looking for us and I want to find them as soon as possible. I don't want to spend time alone in a strange place where danger is all around us."

Frodo agreed and crawled out of the little cave. Moment's later, Balian emerged. He winced as he straightened himself and his hand flew to his side. "What's the matter?" asked Frodo in concern. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," said Balian hurriedly but the hobbit didn't believe him.

"Let me have a look at that!" commanded Frodo.

On seeing that the hobbit would not give up until he complied, Balian reluctantly sat down and let Frodo help him to undo his shirt.

Frodo gasped when he saw Balian's torso. A long jagged wound ran from his ribs to his hip. The edges of the gash were still seeping blood slowly. It was fortunate that the wound was not deep. "If we don't clean that out, it'll fester," said Frodo.

"How do you suggest we clean it?" asked Balian.

Frodo didn't answer; instead, he took some snow in his hands and pressed it against the wound. Balian jerked as the cold white substance touched his flesh but he forced himself to remain still so that Frodo could finish his task.

"Don't worry about it too much," he assured the hobbit. "It looks worse than it feels." It wasn't exactly a lie; Balian did not know what a wound like that was supposed to feel like, so he could safely assume that it looked worse.

Frodo paid no heed to him but continued to clean the wound. At last he stood back to inspect his handiwork. "There!" he said with satisfaction. "I wish we had some salves and bandages but since we have neither, this will have to do for now."

"I'm very grateful," said Balian, getting up stiffly. "Shall we go now?"

The awkward pair made their way to where they had fallen. Much to Balian's dismay, they could not find the Fellowship. They had already left…

* * *

Aragorn woke as soon as the sun's first rays crept over the horizon. Legolas was already awake and he was looking down the cliff with a troubled expression on his face. "It's too high," he said "and too slippery. We will surely fall to our deaths if we try to climb down here." 

"But…" said a horrified Aragorn "What about Frodo and…and…Balian?"

"We can only hope that they survived," said Legolas. What he did not know was that there was a deep snowdrift at the bottom to break the unlucky pair's fall.

"If they…did not," continued the elf "we will still need to go down there to retrieve the Ring."

"Are you saying that we should expect the worst?" asked the ranger.

"Just don't expect the best; you might be disappointed."

* * *

"So what do we do now?" asked Frodo in despair. "They've left!" 

"I do not believe that they would go on without you," said Balian. "You have…well, you _it_ and that thing is the basis of this entire quest."

"How do you know about…about…what I carry?" demanded Frodo.

"Legolas told me," said Balian. "I asked him."

"How did you even find out about its existence?" demanded Frodo suspiciously. 'And why would Legolas tell him?'

"I saw it, when you dropped it on the slope and Boromir picked it up."

"Oh."

"Come. We should hurry. I prefer not to spend another night out here alone. There might be wolves or bears around."

Balian and Frodo picked their way across the snow. Balian's hand was always on the hilt of his sword. He could see nothing that slightly resembled a threat but it was best to be careful. Little did he know that they were being stalked.

Night fell, and they could still see no sign of the Fellowship. Balian and Frodo huddled together against the cold, leaning against each other's backs-or rather, Frodo leant against Balian's back. Their eyes darted to and fro constantly, watching for any sign of danger. Their stomachs were empty and they tried to stave off their hunger by eating snow. They were exhausted and Frodo soon found himself nodding off. Behind him, Balian was also doing the same.

Suddenly, Balian heard scuffling noises not far from where they were sitting. He opened his eyes too late; their assailants were upon them. Balian quickly pulled his sword from its sheath; His side was stiff and sore. Much to his chagrin, he could not take a high guard. Behind him, Frodo unsheathed Sting. Balian tried to put himself between Frodo and their attackers. They fought valiantly, cutting down many foes but it was to no avail. The enemy were too many and the two were soon overcome. Their swords were wrenched from their hands and they were bound tightly. Balian struggled fiercely when they tried to bind him. He struck out in every direction and his foot caught one of their captors in the head. Someone hit the back of the blacksmith's head with the hilt of a sword. Ironically, it was the sword of Ibelin, given to Balian by his father Godfrey. A sharp pain lanced through Balian's head, and then he knew no more.

A/N: Here! Action at last! Happy festive season to all my readers.


	6. Captured

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything or anyone that you recognize. They all belong to their respective creators/directors. I'll put them back when I'm through with them.

**Chapter 6: Captured**

His head throbbed and his side ached. His mouth was dry. Balian thought that he had felt better after the siege of Jerusalem. He was lying on a hard cold stone floor. Slowly, he opened his eyes. They were in a dimly lit cave somewhere in the mountains. Frodo lay beside him. The hobbit was curled up in a ball against the cold. The coarse rope cut into Balian's flesh. Painfully, he inched towards the Ringbearer.

"Frodo," he whispered. "Frodo, are you alright?"

Tentatively, the hobbit turned to face Balian. His eyes were frightened but the small creature's mouth was set in a grim and determined line. "Orcs," he said flatly.

Balian frowned in confusion. What were orcs? Frodo jerked his head in the direction of some black shapes huddled around a fire. Balian could make out dark leathery faces in the orange glow. They were a ragged bunch, always snarling at each other. Many of them were maimed. Most of these things were missing parts of their bodies.

"What do they want?" asked Balian quietly so that the orcs would not hear.

"They're servants of the Dark Lord," said Frodo. "I've only ever heard about them from Gandalf, Bilbo and the elves in Rivendell, but it's easy enough to recognize them. They're cruel things that enjoy others' pain."

Balian did not know much about the creatures of this strange place but he understood enough from Frodo's short explanation.

"Frodo," he said "we must not let them find _it_. If they decide to question us, I'll say that you're the village idiot and I'll try to draw their attention to me. You have to escape, without me if you must. If they find _it_, the whole world will fall."

Balian stared long and hard at Frodo, hoping that the little hobbit understood.

"What about you?" asked Frodo. "I can't just watch them hurt you and do nothing!"

"Then don't watch."

"Curse this snow!" growled Gimli. If it wasn't for it then we would never have lost the lads."

The Fellowship was slowly making their way downhill on a safer path than the one that Balian and Frodo took. After the loss of their companions, all of them were sombre. No one felt the desire to do anything except find the missing Ringbearer and his protector. Even Pippin had lost his appetite. Legolas often went ahead of the others to scout and to look for any sign of their missing companions. Never in the long time that he had known the elf had Aragorn seen Legolas so impatient.

At last, they were at the place where Frodo and Balian had fallen. The snow had covered many signs but Aragorn could make out a set of tracks. Much to their relief, there were no bodies to be found.

"So Balian made his way along the bottom of the cliff," said Aragorn, analysing what he saw. "We can safely assume that he was looking for shelter. He was wounded. There are signs of blood under the snow and he was favouring one side. His tracks are deep so he must have been carrying Frodo."

"That is good," said Gandalf. "We know that both of them survived and Balian was well enough to walk while carrying Frodo."

"But if Balian was carrying Frodo, doesn't it mean that Frodo was too hurt to walk?" asked Merry anxiously.

"Or Mr. Frodo just hadn't woken up yet and Mr. Balian didn't want to stay here," pointed out Sam optimistically.

"Now all we have to do is follow the tracks and find them!" said Pippin happily.

"Balian," said Frodo quietly "the orcs are approaching."

The black creatures were getting up from their places and stretching. Their eyes were fixed on the dark corner where the prisoners were being kept. Balian could sense their bloodlust and he swiftly prayed for the strength to endure what was to come.

"Be without fear in the face of your enemies," he whispered, both to Frodo and to himself. "Have courage."

The orcs advanced upon them. The largest one, obviously the leader, sneered down at the captives. Instinctively, Balian put himself between the monster and Frodo. He had sworn to safeguard the helpless.

"Well, well," said the orc. "What've we here? A man and a midget? What's yer business in the mountains.

"I was on my way home," said Balian in a calm voice, infuriating the orc.

"And 'im?" demanded the beast, pointing a finger at Frodo. "What's he doin'?"

"The village idiot? He travels with me."

"Villagers eh?" sneered the orc. He put his face close to the blacksmith's and Balian could smell the foul odour of rotting flesh on the monster's breath.

"I don't believe you," hissed the orc. "Your weapons are far too fine for you to be _just villagers_." He grabbed Balian's collar and hoisted him to his feet. The blacksmith gasped in pain as the rough treatment aggravated his wound. A glint of metal caught the orc's eye. It was the ring that Sibylla had bought on the day she met Balian. She had given it to him as a lover's token. He wore it on a chain around his neck.

"What's this?" cackled the orc. "A pretty ring? Do you still claim to be a villager?"

"I'm the blacksmith," said Balian truthfully. The orc did not believe him

"You will tell me the truth eventually, whether you want to or not," he snarled, throwing Balian to the other orcs.

The Fellowship stood around the churned up patch of snow. "There was a struggle," said Aragorn, voicing everyone's thoughts. "Orcs, I think."

"This is awful!" moaned Pippin. "They're dead!"

"Not necessarily," said Legolas quietly. "Orcs like to have some sport with their prisoners before killing them. We've found elves still alive after having been captured by orcs months before."

"We must find Frodo before the Orcs kill him and take the Ring," said Boromir urgently.

"Surely Mr. Balian will protect him," said Sam. The rotund gardener was horrified that his master could be suffering this very moment while they were talking.

"Balian will do whatever he can," said Legolas "but if he…well, there will be no one between Frodo and the orcs."

Everyone was silent for a while as they contemplated the worst outcome. Finally, Aragorn spoke. "Legolas, Boromir and I will look for the orcs' lair," he said. Gimli was about to protest when Aragorn turned to him.

"I know you want to come, Gimli," said the ranger "but you cannot keep up with the rest of us. Anyway, someone needs to stay behind to keep Gandalf and the hobbits safe."

The wizard raised an eyebrow in amusement but said nothing. This was Aragorn's way of placating the irritated dwarf. They could not afford anymore long arguments.

"Come on, Pip," said Merry. "We'll go find some wood to start a fire. I'm sure that the Big Folk will want hot drinks and food when they come back with Frodo and Balian."

**A/N: **This chapter is sort of short but this is the best place to stop. Trust me; I know what I'm doing ;) Apologies to all the Boromir fans out there; I know the Boromir in the book is probably not such a jerk but someone needs to be a jerk and he just seemed like the most likely person in the Fellowship to be obnoxious. Anyway, thanks to all my reviewers.


	7. A Blacksmith's Torment

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything or anyone that you recognize. They all belong to their respective creators/directors. I'll put them back when I'm through with them.

**Chapter 7: A Blacksmith's Torment**

Each breath was agony. His back burned with pain. The orcs held him down; their grip was stronger than any manacles' hold on him. With each lash of the whip he tensed, too tired to cry out anymore. Balian waited for reprieve but none came. He could feel hot blood running down his back, mingling with sweat and grime. He prayed for unconsciousness, or anything that could stop his torment.

"He still won't talk, Gurshak," snarled one of the orcs to their leader.

"Give 'im some time to think about it," said Gurshak. "We don't want our fun to end too quickly."

The wounded blacksmith was roughly tossed back into the corner where Frodo lay waiting, too frightened to move. The sound of leather on flesh and Balian's cries were burned into the hobbit's memory. He waited until the orcs were out of hearing range before crawling to Balian's side. The man's breathing was laboured and his hair was matted with blood. His features were etched with agony although he was trying very hard not to show it.

"Balian," whispered Frodo. "I'm so sorry…sorry for everything…"

On hearing the hobbit's voice, Balian opened his glazed and pain filled eyes. "Whatever for?" he asked. His voice was hoarse and soft from pain. "It isn't your fault." He managed to give Frodo a weak smile. "Don't worry about me," he said. "You have an important task. I'm insignificant. No one will miss me. They're all on the other side, waiting…"

"Who?" asked Frodo. "Who's waiting?"

"My wife," said Balian with a wistful smile on his face. His voice was distant. "She was beautiful, so beautiful and when she was with child, she was the most splendid sight to behold. She's waiting for me, with my son of course…he should be almost two by now…"

Frodo gazed up at the blacksmith's face. It was so sad yet so full of hope. He hoped that this would not be the end for either of them for he dearly wanted to hear the rest of Balian's life story. As he watched, Balian's eyes slowly closed again. "Balian?" whispered Frodo. He was frightened. The man was not responding. Only the slight rise and fall of his ribs indicated that he was still alive. The hobbit watched Balian sleep, knowing that the man needed the rest if he was to survive. Despite the blacksmith's words, Frodo still blamed himself, and the Ring, for what had happened. He decided that he would keep watch over Balian. It was the least he could do for the man.

As time passed, Frodo's eyelids grew heavy and despite his efforts to stay awake and keep watch over the wounded blacksmith, he fell asleep.

* * *

Balian was rudely awakened by a sharp kick in the stomach. He gasped and curled up tightly, instinctively protecting himself. A rough had grabbed his hair and he was dragged to where Gurshak was waiting. He was thrown down before the orc's iron shod feet. A large fire burned brightly behind the orc. Inside it were what seemed to be pieces of hot metal. Balian had some vague ideas as to what they were for but he had no desire for his thoughts to be confirmed. The blacksmith lifted his head and glared defiantly at the orc's sneering face. There was nothing else he could do.

"Ready to tell the truth today?" asked the orc.

"I am the blacksmith," said Balian, his voice full of venom. The orcs around him snickered.

"Very well then, _blacksmith_," sneered Gurshak. "You are familiar with horses, I s'pose?"

"What's it to you?"

The orc's grin widened. He held out his hand and one of the others passed him something made from leather and metal.

"You shoe horses, don't you?" said Gurshak. Balian did not answer. Gurshak did not seem to mind his stoic silence. "Therefore you should know how to break a horse," the orc continued. He dangled the thing in his hand before the blacksmith's face. It was an odd looking bridle, made for something with a much shorter nose than a horse.

"Perhaps it is time you learnt how the poor animals felt when you forced them to become your beasts of burden." Gurshak delivered this sentence with shining eyes.

Two strong hands grabbed Balian by the arms and pushed him down. Another yanked back his head by his hair. Rough fingers squeezed the hinges of his jaw, forcing his mouth open. The bit, a piece of round metal approximately the thickness of a man's finger, was pushed into his mouth. The orcs began to tighten the straps around his head and neck until he could hardly breathe. The bit pushed against the corners of his mouth, breaking the delicate skin there. It dug into his tongue painfully and pressed it to the bottom of his mouth. Balian could taste his own blood. It trickled from the sides of his mouth as the bridle made it impossible to spit or swallow. Around him, orcs laughed with cruel delight at his suffering.

"How does it feel to be a beast of burden?" asked Gurshak. When Balian did not respond, the orc roughly backhanded him. Balian would have been sent reeling by the force of the blow if the orcs had not been holding him down. He stared up at Gurshak with all the hatred and scorn he could muster.

"I see you have not been broken yet," growled the orc. "Bring the saddle!"

A saddle, made for a small pony, was brought to Gurshak. The orc leader jerked his head in Balian's direction.

"We improvised this saddle just for you, _blacksmith_," said Gurshak with a smile. "We've put a couple more holes in the girth so that you can fit it."

Balian arched in pain as the saddle was violently slammed onto his back. The leather chafed his raw flesh. The orcs began to tighten the girth. He screamed as they pulled on it. The pressure on his ribs was unbearable. He felt his already injured ribs crack under the pressure.

The orcs cheered. "Who's goin' ta ride 'im?" one demanded.

"I'm the captain," roared Gurshak. "I shall ride him!"

Balian struggled wildly at this statement, until one orc pointed his scimitar at Frodo. "You make more trouble, and 'e's goin' ta pay," growled the creature. Balian looked at Frodo, and then glared up at the orc. He had never felt so helpless before, except for the time when the midwife took his stillborn son away. He had no choice but to let the orcs do as they pleased with him.

* * *

Aragorn was thankful that the orcs had left a clear trail for them to follow. They had journeyed far from the rest of the Fellowship whilst following this trail, hoping to find their missing companions.

"Aragorn!" hissed Legolas into the ranger's ear. The elf pointed to a cave in a distance from which the cheers of orcs could be heard.

"They're in there," said Boromir, his face full of worry. The other two looked at him and said nothing. Instead, they made their way to the cave.

The sight that greeted their eyes made their blood boil. The orc leader sat astride a bridled and saddled Balian who was on his hands and knees. The other orcs cheered as the rider cruelly applied the whip to the blacksmith, raising bloody welts all over his body. Boromir averted his gaze in disgust. 'Why is he letting himself be humiliated like this?' wondered the man of Gondor with disdain. He definitely would have fought against this treatment, no matter how futile his actions would be.

"Aragorn," whispered Legolas urgently "we must do something, and quickly. They're killing him!"

The ranger shook his head. "The orcs are too many," he said. "We cannot win if we rush in there with blades bared and arrows knocked. The only way to overpower them is through stealth. We must wait until they tire of their game and rest. Then we will take them while they are unprepared."

"The element of surprise," said Boromir approvingly. "The question is, will they let their guard down before they find _it_?"

"They're too occupied with the blacksmith," said Aragorn, stating the obvious. "No one is paying much attention to anything else. I just hope Balian is strong enough to last until we put our plan into action."

* * *

"He's not a bad ride!" cackled Gurshak gleefully. "I should mark him as one of my mounts!" The other orcs laughed cruelly. A brand in the shape of an eye was brought. The end was glowing red. Balian's hand was held down flat with the back of it facing up. He dared not fight for fear of the orcs taking out their anger on Frodo. He cried out in pain as the hot metal came into contact with his skin and seared his hand. His body bucked but the orcs held him still. The scent of burnt flesh assailed his nostrils, making him feel ill. At last the orcs took the brand away.

Gurshak picked up the blacksmith's maimed hand and inspected his cronies' handiwork and smiled in satisfaction. "The mark of the Great Eye," he breathed. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Balian did not reply. Gurshak snorted in annoyance and bodily threw the man the other orcs who were now slavering at the prospect of more 'fun'.

* * *

Legolas could feel anger building up inside him as he watched the orcs torture the blacksmith. 'We're coming for you, Balian' he thought. 'We'll make them pay.' 


	8. Rescue Mission

**Chance Encounter**

**Chapter 8: Rescue Mission**

Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas waited until nightfall. As Aragorn had predicted, the Orcs tired of their game with Balian and they unceremoniously threw the man back into the dark corner after having taken off all the tack. Soon, they were dozing off around the fire.

Aragorn signalled to Legolas, who put an arrow to his bowstring and fired. The elven missile flew true and hit one of the sleeping orcs in the neck. Black blood spurted from the wound and the Orc died with a quiet gurgle. One of the others grunted but did not wake. The elf was able to take down two more of the foul creatures before the orcs realized that they were under attack. As soon as one of them sounded the alarm, the two men and the elf rushed into the cave, shooting and hacking at the unprepared Orcs. The fight was fierce but brief. One Orc managed to score a shallow gash on Legolas' thigh before he was cut down by the prince's flashing twin knives. Boromir slashed in every direction and was soon covered in hot black blood.

Aragorn found himself facing the Orc captain. Gurshak was a more competent fighter than most Orcs and the ranger was tired after having travelled so far. Aragorn could feel his arm vibrating after having parried a blow delivered by the Orc. He was quickly forced back and was desperately defending himself. Just as Gurshak was about to strike at Aragorn again, the Orc suddenly stopped in the middle of his onslaught with the tip of an elven knife sticking out of his chest. Aragorn nodded at Legolas, giving the elf his thanks. He was too breathless to speak. Legolas understood and he dipped his head in acknowledgement of the thanks.

Boromir was already at Frodo's side, having cut down the last Orc. Aragorn hurried to Balian's side. The blacksmith was conscious but only just. He hissed in pain as Aragorn gently prodded at his chest to feel for any broken bones. Two ribs were cracked while a few others were bruised. His entire body was riddled with cuts, welts and bruises. The burn on the back of his hand was red and angry. As the ranger examined the bloodied blacksmith, Legolas went to find Balian and Frodo's missing weapons. Boromir and Frodo aided the elven prince in searching for the swords. They found them in a pile of Orc weapons, shining brightly from amidst the dark blades. Frodo lovingly strapped Sting back onto his own belt while Legolas took Balian's sword and wrapped it in one of the Orcs' cleaner cloaks. He planned to present it to the man once they got back to the others.

Boromir stood to one side, observing the elf's actions. Jealousy was building up inside him. He had difficulty understanding why everyone had so readily accepted Balian while he still felt like a stranger. Was he, Boromir son of Denethor, not a member of this fellowship? Why then did Aragorn and Legolas seem to care more about Balian, a mere blacksmith whose origins were unknown, than about him? Legolas even made it his own business to seek out the blacksmith's sword! Boromir kept these bitter emotions inside and they festered, poisoning him against Balian.

Meanwhile, Aragorn was trying to persuade Balian that he was _not_ well enough to walk on his own. The ranger found that this was no easy task; the blacksmith was stubborn. He reasoned in a perfectly calm voice —although the slight quavering indicated that he was exhausted— that his ribs were broken and not his legs. It took a few steps before Balian was finally convinced that he needed help. Aragorn wrapped the other man in his own cloak. Balian's clothes —or rather, the clothes that he had borrowed from Boromir— were in tatters.

Frodo also insisted on walking on his own but after some impressive persuasion from Legolas, he allowed Boromir to carry him. The tired group slowly made their way back to the others. All of them were looking forward to some decent rest and a hot meal that, hopefully, Gandalf had permitted the three hobbits and the dwarf to make.

* * *

Merry was keeping watch when he spotted figures slowly making their way down the slope. As they came closer, the hobbit could see that they were the missing pair and their rescuers.

"Gandalf!" he shouted with excitement "Gandalf, they're back! Frodo an' Balian an' Strider an' Legolas an' Boromir are back!"

"Hush, Meriadoc," said the wizard in a reprimanding tone although his eyes were twinkling with joy. "Calm down. You do not want to bring down a host of orcs upon us."

"Mr. Frodo's back?" squealed Sam. "I need to make tea, an' stew! He'll be famished and I haven't got no dinner prepared! Where's those dried mushrooms…" Still muttering to himself, he rummaged around in his pack for the treasured ingredient.

Pippin jumped up and down, laughing with joy and relief. He and Merry began to dance a little jig.

Legolas arrived first, limping slightly. With a sigh, the elf sat down in front of a small fire and gratefully accepted a cup of tea from Gimli. "You're bleedin', elf," commented the dwarf gruffly.

"I'm fine," insisted the elf a little testily.

"We'll see what Aragorn says," retorted the dwarf.

"He won't know about it."

"We'll see."

Boromir and Frodo came next. As soon as Frodo's feet touched the ground, he was overwhelmed by his two cousins and his gardener who were all trying to hug him at the same time.

"So glad you're back!" cried Merry.

"We've all been worried sick! I even lost my appetite!" shouted Pippin

"You must be starvin' Mr. Frodo," Sam rambled on, pushing a cup of tea into Frodo's hands and putting a blanket around his shoulders. "The stew should be ready soon. It's your favourite…"

Gandalf did not take part in this joyful banter although he was also extremely glad that Frodo was back, alarmed but otherwise unhurt. His eyes were fixed on Aragorn and Balian. The last two were making slow and painful progress across the rocky terrain. Balian had tripped and fallen and he seemed to be having trouble getting up. Looking back at the others to see that they did not need him for the moment, he strode towards the struggling pair.

Aragorn was trying —without much success— to help the blacksmith to his feet without further injuring him. When Gandalf reached them, he did not speak to either of them. Instead, he supported the wounded man's other side and their combined efforts finally allowed Balian to get to his feet. All three were relieved when they finally reached the campsite without any major mishaps.

"Sam," said Aragorn "I need hot water." The ranger pulled out bandages and various herbs and salves from his pack and sat down next to Balian. He gently helped the blacksmith to remove the tattered remains of a shirt from his upper body. There was a gasp. Aragorn turned to see Pippin standing behind him with eyes wide and mouth gaping.

"That must hurt," whispered the little hobbit. Balian looked embarrassed and he gave a little smile.

"It looks worse than it feels, little one," said the blacksmith softly.

"I don't believe this nonsense about wounds looking worse than they feel," muttered Aragorn, washing the other man's wounds. "Wounds hurt as bad as they look or I'm a mushroom."

"What's this about a mushroom?" demanded Merry.

"Nothing," replied Pippin. "Strider said that he's a mushroom if Balian's wounds don't hurt."

"I didn't say that it doesn't hurt," said Balian. "I said it looks worse than it feels."

"And I'm a mushroom if that's true," said Aragorn. He began to bind Balian's chest tightly and the blacksmith winced.

"Honestly, Aragorn," said Legolas, coming over. "How would you know how he feels?"

"You know as well as I do how Orc-inflicted wounds feel —Legolas, you're bleeding!"

"I'm fine!" protested the elf. "It looks worse than it feels!"

Everyone burst into laughter, including Balian who ended up groaning because laughing hurt his ribs.

**A/N: **Sorry about the late update. The computer got totally messed up due to this stupid Trojan virus and my little brother had to spend a few days fixing it up. Thanks to my wonderful reviewers. You guys are absolute best —but you know that already. Reviews keep me inspired and motivated. They're a sort of fuel. The more reviews I get, the faster I update (hint hint)


	9. Choices

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back where they belong after I'm through with them.

**HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY TO ORLANDO BLOOM!!!!**

**Chapter 9: Choices**

When Balian woke, he did not know where he was. What he did know was that he was relatively safe. The sun was peeking out from behind grey clouds and the air was crisp and cool, tainted by only the faintest scent of strange smoke. Gingerly, he sat up; his sides were stiff and sore but at least he felt alive and more hale than he had been in a long time.

Gimli sat with his back to the sleeping members of the Fellowship, puffing on a pipe with a broad bowl. Silently, the blacksmith tried to stand but he immediately regretted his decision. Dizziness overtook him. His head swam and his vision became hazy. A loud roaring noise filled his ears. He sat down with a gasp, causing the robust dwarf to drop his pipe and whip around in alarm. Legolas had sprung to his feet at the sound holding one of his white elven knives and Aragorn's hand was on the hilt of his sword. Undisturbed by this sudden flurry of movement, the four hobbits slept on.

Everyone relaxed slightly when they learnt that the source of this commotion was Balian. Aragorn frowned at the stubborn blacksmith and severely reprimanded him for risking more damage to his already battered body. The speech sounded strangely rehearsed to all who heard it and Legolas could remember hearing it from someone else. He sniggered behind his hand but when the ranger glowered at him, he quickly turned the snigger into a cough. Gimli took this opportunity to thump the elf hard on his back, causing Legolas to give the dwarf a scathing glare.

Gandalf watched this display of frivolity with amusement. 'Young ones,' he thought fondly, shaking his head. 'They recover so quickly.' However, he made no move to stop them, knowing that they needed some entertainment to lighten their mood.

* * *

After a light meal of hard cheese and dried fruit —of which the hobbits highly disapproved­— the Fellowship all sat down to discuss the next step that they were going to take. 

"We should make for the Gap of Rohan," suggested Boromir "then take the road to my city."

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard," said Aragorn.

"We must not get close to Isengard at any stage of our journey," said Legolas. "Saruman is watching the Gap of Rohan, Boromir. We should not take that path."

"But there is no other way!" protested Boromir. He was becoming impatient. "We have failed to pass through the mountains. The Gap of Rohan is our only hope!"

"There is one other way," said Gandalf slowly. Everyone turned to look at the old wizard.

"The Mines of Moria," breathed Gimli in awe. Legolas choked back a cry of dismay. It occurred to Balian that there was much dissension between the elf and the dwarf although he could not guess why. They were actually rather similar, despite appearances. Both were stubborn and compassionate people who also possessed a sense of humour. The blacksmith could not understand why they were always at each others' throats.

"I have passed through the mines before," said Aragorn quietly "and I do not wish to do so again."

The hobbits said nothing. Even they had heard of Moria and they feared its name. Many terrible stories had been told about that place. Only Balian, who knew next to nothing about Middle Earth, was confused as to why a mere mine could strike fear into courageous people such as Aragorn and Legolas.

"I will not go to Moria," said Boromir vehemently. "What do Legolas and the little folk say? Surely the Ringbearer's voice must be heard." It did not go unnoticed by the rest of the Fellowship that he had conveniently omitted Balian.

"I do not wish to go to Moria," said Legolas quietly. "However, this choice is not mine to make. I will go wherever the Ringbearer goes."

Merry, Pippin and Sam nodded in agreement. "We'll go where Frodo goes," said Merry with determination.

All eyes turned to Frodo, who looked around for advice and opinions. The hobbit's gaze settled on Balian, who now wished that he was invisible so that he would not have to comment on something he knew nothing about.

"What do you say, Balian?" asked Frodo. Boromir snorted in disgust as if to say 'what does he know? He's not one of us.' Everyone ignored him and focused on the blacksmith in question.

"I know nothing about these mines," said Balian. "This is your decision, Frodo. Whatever you ask, I will serve."

Frodo remained silent for a long time. He did not want to go to Moria but common sense told him that it was the only way. "We will go through the Mines," he said at last.

"So be it," said Gandalf. "We will go through the mines, but only when our companions have recovered from their ordeal."

* * *

The Fellowship set off for Moria after a delay of two weeks. Balian was still stiff but he had recovered enough to walk on his own and fight if he needed to. The path they took to Moria was relatively easy compared to the Pass of Caradhras, although the Company seemed more gloomy than usual, except for Gimli. The dwarf was as excited as a child with a new toy. His excitement, however, was not contagious. The usually lighthearted elf looked depressed and he did not even argue with the dwarf. Balian did not ask why they were all so downhearted. It was none of his business after all. After three days' journey, they finally saw the walls of Moria or rather, Gimli saw them and pointed them out to the rest of the Fellowship. 

"Moria, the pride of the dwarves," announced Gandalf. "It was built in the elder days, when there was friendship between all races, even between the elves and the dwarves."

"It was not the dwarves' fault that the friendship waned," said Gimli.

"I have not heard that it was the fault of the elves," retorted Legolas. His eyes glittered dangerously and more than once, Balian thought that he was going to hit Gimli. Fortunately, Gandalf intervened. "I have heard both," said the wizard "and I will not voice my conclusion now. Please, Legolas and Gimli, at least be friends. I need you both to find the doors."

"Dwarf doors are hidden from those who do not know where they are," announced Gimli proudly.

"Yes, Gimli," said Gandalf. "There own masters cannot find them if their secrets are forgotten."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" muttered Legolas rather loudly. Gimli glowered at him but said nothing.

Balian took no notice of the debate between the elf and the dwarf. Rather, he was focusing on the foul pool in front of the wall. It was dark and stagnant. The water was probably undrinkable.

"He's found it!" cried Pippin. Balian whipped around. Sure enough, there was a shape of an arched gateway on the wall, made by glowing lines. The blacksmith looked at the doors in confusion. Why were they glowing, and why did they have no handle?

"It reads here 'The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria,'" said Gandalf, pointing to the runes engraved at the top of the arch with his staff. "—'speak, friend, and enter'."

"What do you suppose that means?" asked Merry.

"It's very simple," replied Gandalf. "Just speak the password and the doors will open."

'This is a mad world,' thought Balian, watching Gandalf as the wizard tried out many strange words on the door. 'Maybe it would've been better if I had stayed in the Holy Land…' His thoughts were disturbed by Aragorn, who was reprimanding the younger hobbits for throwing stones into the pool. Balian fancied that he saw a ripple that was not caused by the falling stones. "Aragorn…" he whispered "there's something in there—" He did not get to finish his sentence for at that moment, Frodo had helped Gandalf to figure out the password and the doors of Moria had sprung open.

**A/N: **They've finally reached Moria. Yay! Please review! Reviews are my fuel and nothing works without fuel. Thanks to all the people who let me know what they think. As for the others, review or I'll send out the warg riders.


	10. Into the Mines

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back where they belong after I'm through with them.

**Chapter 10****: Into the Mines**

The gaping maw of Moria was dark. Tentatively, the Fellowship stepped inside one by one. The air inside the mine smelled foul, as if it was tainted by rotting carrion. When Balian's eyes had adjusted to the inky blackness, Gandalf had already kindled the light on the tip of his staff. It gave out a cool glow, illuminating everything around it.

Gimli was busy describing the 'fabled hospitality of the dwarves' to Legolas, who was only half listening. From the light of Gandalf's staff, Balian could make out grotesque shapes lying on the floor of the mine. A closer inspection revealed them to be corpses of things long dead. However, Gimli, in his rapture, did not notice much. "…and they call it a mine," said the dwarf in disbelief "a mine!"

"This is no mine," said Boromir quietly, his voice laced with horror. "It's a tomb." To Balian, this equated to throwing a bucket of cold water over the dwarf and he felt slightly annoyed at Boromir's careless words. Gimli's jubilation was quickly turned into dismay and grief.

"No…" choked Gimli. "No!"

Balian's heart ached for him. He knew what it felt to lose friends and family. He had lost enough.

Legolas bent down to pull an arrow from one of the corpses and examined it. One experienced glance told him that it was not made by men or elves or dwarves.

"Goblins," he said in disgust, straightening and fitting an arrow to his bow. Aragorn and Boromir drew their swords as if preparing for an attack. Balian did likewise. He trusted the instincts of his companions.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan," said Boromir. "We should never have come here." His voice was full of conviction. Now that he had seen Moria, Balian felt inclined to agree with Boromir's last statement, unless something more terrible than this awaited them at the Gap of Rohan."

"Get out, all of you," Boromir was shouting "get out!"

The blacksmith was just thinking that it was slightly foolish to shout when there could be enemies about but his train of thought was interrupted by a cry from one of the hobbits. He whipped around. Something had caught Frodo and Sam was busy helping his master. Without looking back at the other members of the Fellowship, he raced out of the mines. Whatever it was that had grabbed Frodo had just released its hold, having been driven off by Sam's blade. However, just as Frodo was being helped to his feet, what seemed like many snakes shot out of the water, knocked all the other hobbits away and caught hold of Frodo's ankle again.

Balian hacked desperately at the tentacles, trying to reach the Ringbearer. For every tentacle that he cut off, two more seemed to replace it. He narrowly avoided being caught by one. The other swordsmen, namely Aragorn and Boromir, were also occupied with cutting off tentacles. It was a losing battle but their only wish was to free Frodo, who was being swung around in the air. They were all soaked by the foul water and the tentacles just kept coming. The creature's head broke through the surface of the pool. Balian could not find words to describe it. It just looked horribly _wrong_. Its eyes were two dark bulbous looking things while it seemed to have more than one pair or jaws lined with sharp teeth. The tentacles sprouted from its head. He definitely preferred the battle at Kerak.

Boromir managed to cut through the tentacle which dangled Frodo in the air and the soaking heap of hobbit tumbled into the man's outstretched arms.

"Into the mines!" shouted Gandalf. They didn't need to be told twice. Balian scrambled as fast as he could over the slippery rocks and into the relative safety of Moria. He could feel the monster's foul breath behind him and its roar filled his ears. It was gaining on him. Just as he reached the doors, an arrow flew above his head and buried itself in the beast's eye. The monster groaned in pain, falling back for a moment. That was all the time that he needed to throw himself into the mines, and none too soon. The monster was back again. It seemed bent on destroying the Fellowship. They ran further into the mines and out of reach of the beast's tentacles. On seeing that they had escaped from its grasp, the monster grabbed the doors and flung them shut with all its might. Rocks fell, blocking the way. When the dust had cleared and Gandalf had rekindled the light, they could all see that they were trapped.

"We have now but one choice," said the wizard grimly. "We must face the dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than orcs down here."

The Fellowship continued on wards in single file. Balian, who was near the back, noticed that Legolas stayed extremely close to the light on Gandalf's staff. 'Of all the things that kindle fear, he dreads the dark,' thought Balian wryly to himself. If Legolas was a good example of an elf, then elves must surely be strange creatures indeed.

The mines were vast, and strangely devoid of equipment except for a ladder here and there. The blacksmith wondered what was mined and why the miners had taken the time to build such hazardous paths. They were walking along a narrow path on the edge of a large chasm. It was strangely warm inside the mines and after the cold of Caradhras, it was not unwelcome.

"The wealth of Moria was not in gold, or jewels," explained Gandalf "but mithril." The wizard held the light over the chasm and the rays were reflected by veins of silvery metal until the whole chasm turned into a pit of light. They all gazed down in awe for none of them had seen such great wealth before. The wizard let them admire the scene for a while before turning the light back to the path.

"Bilbo once had a shirt of mithril rings that Thorin gave him," continued Gandalf.

"Oh! That was a kingly gift!" gasped Gimli.

"Yes," said Gandalf and Balian could detect the smile in his voice although he could not see the wizard's face. "I never told him, but its value was greater than the value of the Shire."

The blacksmith did not understand most of what was being spoken of and he hoped that once they got out of this dark and dreadful place, he would be able to learn how this Bilbo got his expensive mail shirt.

Boromir scanned his surroundings and took no notice of the anecdote that Gandalf was telling. His mind dwelt on the soft-spoken and well liked blacksmith. Moria was treacherous. It was so easy for a man to fall to his death. One small inconspicuous nudge to upset his balance and…No, he could not do that. He would not stoop to that level. Besides, the sharp-eyed elf would suspect him. It would be better to make the Fellowship suspicious of Balian and drive him away of their own accord.

The blacksmith in question was not aware of his companion's malicious thoughts. Rather, he was wondering as to why the Fellowship had stopped.

Gandalf looked around him. Nothing seemed familiar. "I have no memory of this place," murmured the wizard with a frown. He turned to the rest of the Fellowship. "We shall rest here for a while," he said.

Pippin let out a sigh of relief and promptly sat down. Merry and Sam followed suit. Legolas, Aragorn and Boromir leaned against the same rock while Gimli sat opposite the hobbits. Frodo sat slightly apart from the group. He was occupied by thoughts. Balian stood to the side and kept watch while Gandalf was alone on an outcrop of rock, puffing on his pipe and thinking.

For a long time, no one spoke. The darkness of Moria was discouraging and it weighed down heavily on their spirits. The Ringbearer seemed especially troubled to the observant blacksmith. Cautiously, he moved closer to the hobbit and finally sat down quietly beside him and crossed his long legs.

Frodo was startled to see Balian beside him. The man was as quiet and subtle as a ranger. However, he welcomed the man's company. Balian was not talkative as his fellow hobbits were liable to be and Frodo trusted him. They had been through quite a lot together and the little hobbit had come to appreciate the blacksmith's stoic silence. Somehow, he seemed more like a hobbit than all the other Big Folk.

It was Pippin who broke the silence. "Are we lost?" he asked in a loud whisper.

"No," replied Merry.

"I think we are," insisted the young Took. No one commented.

"Merry," said Pippin.

"What?" snapped Merry.

"I'm hungry."

Aragorn rolled his eyes and looked meaningfully at Legolas.

"Hobbits," said the elf with a fond smile, shaking his head.

"It's my birthday soon," said Pippin with a sigh. "I don't think I should expect a party."

"You want a party in a place like this?" demanded Merry.

"Not really," said Pippin. "I was thinking of a party similar to Bilbo's. You know, outdoors with plenty of food and fireworks."

"Bilbo was turning one hundred and eleven, Pip," said Merry. "You're only turning twenty-nine!"

Balian's eyes widened when he learned that Pippin was older than him. The little hobbit was so childlike, it was impossible to think of him as a child older than ten!

"Yes," Pippin was saying "but I'm the youngest in the Fellowship so I'm special and therefore I deserve a nice party!"

"How do you know you're the youngest?" demanded Merry hotly. Boromir looked extremely amused. Only hobbits could argue about such mundane things such as birthday parties while trapped in Moria.

"Well, that's easy," said Pippin. "I'm the youngest hobbit. Strider looks older than me so he ought to be older. Same with Boromir and Legolas is an elf so he _must _be older. Gimli is one hundred and twenty. Gandalf was old even before I was born so I don't think I need to mention him. And Balian…how old is he?"

Merry shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Why don't you ask him?"

"But that would seem rude!"

"I think he's used to it by now. You're always too nosy for your own good. "

Frodo seemed to have been distracted by his cousins' silly behaviour. He was smiling as he watched the debate's progress. The Ringbearer gave Balian a nudge.

"So how old are you?" asked the hobbit.

Everyone looked at the blacksmith expectantly and he inwardly cringed.

"Come on," pleaded Pippin. "You don't have to be shy."

Balian looked down at the ground. Suddenly, the rock seemed quite interesting.

"Just tell him," urged Frodo. "He won't leave you alone until you do."

"Twenty-eight," mumbled Balian.

"What did he say?" asked Pippin.

"He's twenty-eight," said Frodo "so you're not the youngest."

It was actually quite surprising to learn that Balian was the youngest member of the Fellowship. He acted like someone who was much older.

"Look what you've done, Pip," said Merry in annoyance. "You've embarrassed him."

"What? I made him tell us how old he is; that's nothing to be embarrassed of," retorted Pippin.

"Alright, gentlemen," chided Aragorn softly "that's enough. Can't you see that our young blacksmith here does not like being at the centre of attention? Anyway, you'd better be quiet. You don't want to attract things of an unsavoury nature.

The group went back to being silent again but their mood had been lightened.

A movement caught Frodo's eye, giving him a fright. He tapped Balian's arm and pointed. The two of them peered into the gloom then Balian looked at Frodo in confusion. His night vision was poor compared to the hobbit and he could not see anything.

"There's something out there," Frodo whispered to the bewildered blacksmith.

"It's Gollum," said Gandalf, who had overheard them. "He's been following us for three days."

"Gollum?" asked Balian. "What—" He was rudely cut off by Legolas.

"Where?" demanded the elf, bounding up to the outcrop where Gandalf was sitting. Frodo pointed into the darkness. The elf narrowed his eyes, listening intently. Then without warning he put an arrow to his bow. Only Balian's quick reflexes stopped Legolas from shooting and alerting the unpleasant inhabitants of the mine of their presence.

"What are you doing?!" Legolas hissed at Balian, whom he was wrestling with. He tried to pry his bow from the blacksmith's hands but the man was stubborn and would not let go.

"Do you know what that is, and what it has done to me?!" demanded Legolas furiously.

The hobbits had never seen the elf so wrathful and they were terrified by his outburst. Even Aragorn and Gandalf, who knew the elf well, were shocked.

"Legolas stop this!" pleaded Balian. He was surprised by the elf's unnatural strength. Legolas ignored his plea and kept on trying to shoot at Gollum. In his anger, he drove his elbow into the man's healing ribs, causing Balian to hiss with pain. Aragorn quickly scrambled up to where the two were and tried to pull them apart. Gandalf was already trying to calm Legolas down, to no avail. For a moment, the arrow was pointing at Balian's chest. Gandalf quickly pushed the man aside before something that Legolas would regret forever happened. Finally, Aragorn and Gandalf, with some help from the rest of the Fellowship, managed to separate the two and pacified Legolas enough so that he did not attempt to shoot anything anymore.

"Why did you stop me?!" demanded the elf through clenched teeth, glaring venomously at the breathless blacksmith who was clutching his ribs. "Why did you stop me from avenging my kin?! I thought we were friends!"

"We _are_ friends," insisted Balian helplessly.

"No we're not," spat Legolas. He turned and stalked away. Aragorn followed him and tried to reason with the elf but Legolas refused to listen.

Gandalf helped Balian to sit down. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Balian nodded. His eyes were full of hurt and confusion. Why was Legolas acting this way? As if he had read his thoughts, Gandalf began to explain.

"Balian," said the wizard "Gollum was once a prisoner in Legolas' kingdom. When he escaped, he caused many of Legolas' comrades to be killed and moreover, Legolas was in charge of guarding Gollum. I'm not sure what happened exactly, but Legolas' father was furious and I suspect that Legolas bore the brunt of his anger."

"So he wants to kill Gollum to avenge his friends and himself," finished Balian. Gandalf nodded.

"He's very angry at you for taking away this chance," said Gandalf "but I am certain that in time, he will forgive you. I can only ask you to forgive him as well for his rash actions."

Balian nodded. He hoped that this moment of reconciliation would come soon.

* * *

**A/N: **Some Legolas/Balian angst, heheh. I'm so nasty to them. Please review and tell me whether you liked it or not! 


	11. Drums in the Deep

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back where they belong after I'm through with them.

**Chapter 11: Drums in the Deep.**

The darkness closed in about him. He hated it; hated it so much he wanted to scream except he could not do that for fear of alerting their enemies. There was no life, save for the presence of his companions. He missed —no, _needed_— the voices of trees, the cool caress of the wind and the light of the sun. They told him that he lived.

The screams of dying elves —his friends and comrades— reverberated in his mind. He could see their faces, contorted with agony even as the light left their eyes. Their blood covered his hands and the earth around them, mingling with the blood of their enemies. He had not forgotten his promise to avenge them and he'd had the perfect chance…until _he _interfered.

Legolas glanced scathingly in Balian's direction. The blacksmith looked dejected. His shoulders were slumped and he sat with his arms around his knees. Ever since their disagreement, they had not spoken to each other. The rest of the Fellowship was as nervous as a herd of deer that knew they were being stalked. All of them kept glancing at Legolas but quickly looked away when he met their gazes. None of them dared to speak to him for fear of inducing his ire. His father was well-known for his legendary temper and although Legolas had inherited none of Thranduil's viciousness, he could still be terrifying, as they had just found out.

Gandalf's mind constantly dwelt on the incident between Balian and Legolas. It would take some time for the elven prince's temper to cool down but he knew that eventually, Legolas would be able to see Balian's reason and forgive the man. And the blacksmith did not hold a grudge, which should make the reconciliation smoother. The dark of Moria was probably hindering Legolas' ability to reason. The wizard had known the elf since childhood. Legolas abhorred dark, closed-in places. Being underground for such a long period of time was very taxing for him. He would come to his senses soon enough once he sees the sun and his beloved trees again. This brought Gandalf back to the problem at hand; he needed to get them out of Moria. He pulled his pipe from his mouth and sighed, then his brow creased and he sniffed the air a few more times. There was fresh air coming from one of the carved archways. Fresh air meant that there was an outlet…

"Ah, It's that way!" he declared, almost gleefully.

"He's remembered it!" cried Merry, a grin lighting up his face. He scrambled to his feet. The rest of the Fellowship followed suit, wearing eager expressions.

"No," said Gandalf, approaching the archway "but the air doesn't smell so foul down here." He smiled at Merry, who was standing beside him and enthusiastically peering into the darkness beyond the archway. "If in doubt, Meriadoc," the wizard advised "always follow your nose."

They slowly filed through the archway with cautious steps, apprehensive about what they would find there. The whole place sounded hollow. Their footsteps were magnified ominously in the dark. There could be a hole anywhere, just waiting for one of them to put their foot in the wrong place. Legolas shuddered. Why would anyone, save for creatures of the dark, want to make their home here?

"Let me risk a little more light," breathed Gandalf, passing a gnarled hand over the glowing crystal on the tip of his staff. The light intensified and revealed tall stone columns easily twice the height of the walls of Jerusalem. Balian's eyes widened in awe and admiration as he took in the sight. Never in his live had he seen such find craftsmanship. The pillars themselves had been cut from the rock of the mountain and they were as smooth as glass. Intricate patterns had been carved into them lovingly. This place must have been magnificent to behold in its days of glory when Moria had not been ransacked and pillaged by orcs. As it was, its beauty, although it was only a shadow of its former splendour, held them in a trance.

"Behold the great dwarven city of Dwarrowdelf," said Gandalf. His voice, although soft, was magnified by the great domed ceiling which rivalled that of any cathedral.

Gimli spotted a partially open wooden door leading into a chamber illuminated by natural light. He gave a shout and began to run towards the door, not paying any heed to Gandalf's warnings. The rest of the Fellowship ran to catch up with him. Legolas, being one of the eldar, was the swiftest. He entered the chamber first, followed by the men then Gandalf and the hobbits. They found Gimli kneeling in front of a box-like tomb, his face etched with grief and sobbing.

"Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria," read Gandalf sadly from the inscription carved into the smooth surface of the stone in dwarven runes. "He is dead then. It is as I have feared."

Gimli was still in denial and Boromir placed a hand on the dwarf's shoulder to offer what comfort he could. Balian stood to the side and offered up a swift prayer for Gimli's kinsman and for Gimli as well. He had grown rather fond of the dwarf and hated to see his friend grieving.

Legolas and Aragorn stood behind the rest of them. "We should leave now," Legolas said to Aragorn. His voice was almost a hiss and he emphasized every syllable. "We cannot linger." Aragorn glanced at the elf. His friend was nervous and tense but Gimli deserved some time to pay his last respects to his cousin. The ranger said nothing.

Meanwhile, Gandalf had pried a heavy dusty book from a dwarven skeleton's hands. Many pages fell out or disintegrated as the wizard opened the old book. "Maybe this will let us know what happened here," he said. All eyes turned to Gandalf with apprehension and dread. Balian didn't want to know what had happened, at least, not until they were out of this horrible place of death.

"They have taken the hall and the second bridge," intoned Gandalf in his rich voice. "We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep. We cannot get out…they are coming…" The wizard stopped, for these seemed to be the last words the scribe wrote before he fell. The words were ominous and made filled their hearts with cold trepidation.

A loud crash made them all jump and whip around to find the source of the noise. It was Pippin, who had been fiddling with a skeleton that was sitting at the edge of a well. The skull had fallen off and tumbled into the empty blackness. As Pippin looked up guiltily at Gandalf, the rest of the skeleton followed the skull and along with it went a heavy chain with a bucket attached, presumably used for drawing water when the mines were still occupied by civilized people. It was several moments before the clanging and crashing ended. With each sound, the guilty hobbit cringed. When it was all over, Pippin looked up to see the furious wizard's face.

"Fool of a Took!" cried Gandalf. "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!"

Balian thought this was slightly harsh. The hobbit did not do it on purpose. However, Pippin's actions had probably endangered them all by alerting whatever it was that killed the dwarves of their presence.

A piercing shriek came from the depths of the well; it was answered by another. Soon there was a chorus of harsh shrieks. Drumbeats followed. The sounds drew closer. Frodo unsheathed his blade. It glowed blue. "Orcs!" shouted Legolas. His eyes were full of hate.

"Stay back!" Aragorn commanded the hobbits. "Stay close to Gandalf!" Boromir went to the doors and peeked out but soon jerked his head back. Two arrows were embedded in the place where it had been moments before.

"They have a cave troll," said the Gondorian in disgust. He slammed the doors shut and Aragorn helped him to bar them with long-handled axes that Legolas was passing them. Balian positioned himself in front of the frightened hobbits and drew the sword of Ibelin. Anything that wanted to hurt the hobbits would do so over his dead body. His sides were still stiff but thankfully, he was able to take a high guard. Gimli planted himself on top of Balin's tomb. "Let them come," he snarled. "There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

Legolas and Aragorn, their only archers, stood at the front with arrows fitted to their bows. Boromir was behind them, shield on one arm and blade bared, ready for anything that was to come through the door. It wasn't long before the orcs managed to hack a hole in the rotting wood. An arrow emerged from the hole but Legolas fired first. The orc fell back with a scream but it was replaced by another. Aragorn shot the replacement before the doors were broken and all the orcs rushed in.

These were smaller than the ones that Balian had first encountered during his unlucky side trip but they were no less foul. He felt only contempt for them as he cut them down. From behind him came a battle cry and the hobbits rushed forward, stabbing and cutting like little soldiers. Sam put his frying pan to good use while Merry surprised the blacksmith with his viciousness. It almost matched Balian's own.

They seemed to be winning the battle when something large, loud and grey barged in, brandishing a heavy club. It went straight for Sam who avoided being crushed by diving between the monster's legs. Legolas shot it in the shoulder, but that only angered it more. It turned its attention to the elf and things might have gone awry if Gimli had not distracted it by chopping at its legs with his axe. The troll —as that was what it was— swiped at the dwarf with its club. Gimli just managed to leap out of the way.

The troll hit out in every direction, not caring if it killed orcs or not. In the process, it smashed Balin's tomb, sending fragments of rock everywhere. It was about to attack Gandalf when Balian caught its attention. The blacksmith had been fighting orcs and he was covered in black blood. He looked like something that would haunt a man's darkest dreams. The troll lashed out at him and Balian swiftly ducked while delivering a glancing blow to the troll's upper leg.

Gandalf could see the blacksmith from the corner of his eye and he was impressed by the man's ferocity and swordsmanship. Balian was a seasoned warrior and fought like one who did not fear death. However, a little more caution would not go amiss and the wizard made a note to remind Balian afterwards. Sadly, he never got the chance until much later.

Meanwhile, the troll was once again distracted by Legolas who had fired two arrows at the same time from a ledge. The troll was trying to hit the elf with its chain and very nearly succeeded. The last attempt ended in the chain tangling itself around a pillar and thus disabling the troll momentarily. Legolas took this chance to run across the chain and onto the troll's shoulders. He stood astride the troll and shot the top of its skull. The arrow shattered upon impact.

'That thing must have a very thick skull,' thought Balian, beheading an orc.

The troll now concentrated on the hobbits and it managed to isolate Frodo. It seemed almost desperate to destroy the hobbit after so many botched attempts to kill one of the Fellowship. In his frantic state, Frodo called out to Aragorn for help. The ranger immediately leapt between the troll and the Ringbearer with a long spear in his hand, looking every bit like a knight in shining armour, except he wore no armour.

With a violent thrust and an enraged snarl, he plunged the spear into the troll's body. The troll roared in pain and for a moment, it seemed like it was dying. Unfortunately for Aragorn, trolls were extremely resilient creatures and this one was also highly annoyed. With an arm the size of a small catapult, it swiped Aragorn off his feet and threw him against the stone wall, rendering the man unconscious. The troll yanked the spear from its ribcage and was about to stab the man when Frodo made a valiant attempt to defend Aragorn. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion and the rest of the Fellowship could only watch in horror as the troll first flung Frodo against a wall then drove the spearhead into the little hobbit. Frodo tried to scream, but all that came from his lips were gasps of pain. His face had gone pale. Sweat beaded his face like small diamonds. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and he fell forwards, seemingly dead.

Something seemed to have snapped inside Merry and pippin when Frodo hit the ground. They leapt from the ledge they were standing on and onto the troll's head, stabbing at its scalp viciously with their short swords. The infuriated troll reached up and plucked Merry from his position on its shoulder but a quick blow from Pippin made the troll drop the young Brandybuck.

With fury that he only reserved for the likes of Reynald de Chatillon and Guy de Lusignan, Balian lunged at the troll and leapt onto its back, plunging his sword in with all his might. Legolas stood in front of the troll, aiming at its neck and waiting for it to expose its throat. When the sword of Ibelin entered its flesh, the troll lifted its head and roared. At that moment, Legolas changed his target and released his arrow. The arrow entered into the troll's brain through the top of its mouth. The troll staggered, moaning. Pippin, who was still on top of it, clung on tightly. The troll stumbled, once, twice, then fell on its face and tossed Pippin to the ground. The sword of Ibelin was still embedded in its back.

Aragorn wasted no time in getting to Frodo. The man was still dazed from his impact with the wall and was crawling on his hands and knees. "Oh no," he whispered when he reached the hobbit. His face was filled with fear and grief. He reached out to lift up the little body. Imagine his surprise when Frodo gasped for breath, very much alive.

"It's alright," said Frodo breathlessly, gazing at the wide-eyed faces around him. "I'm not hurt."

"You should be dead!" exclaimed Aragorn in awe and confusion. "That spear would've skewered a wild boar!"

Gandalf smiled warmly down at Frodo. "I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye," he said with eyes twinkling. Slowly, Frodo undid his shirt to reveal a very fine and well-crafted mail shirt which glittered brightly as if it had been woven from beams of starlight.

"Mithril," breathed Gimli in wonder. "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins."

More shrieks brought them out of their reverie. "To the bridge of Khazad-dum," said Gandalf. They followed him out of the chamber which once housed Balin's tomb and into the dwarven city of Dwarrowdelf. Orcs were streaming out from holes in the ceiling and down the pillars like a swarm of ants. The Fellowship was soon surrounded by snarling, bow-legged creatures. They drew their weapons and prepared for a battle they knew they could not win.

**A/N: **I used phrases from the FotR film in the chapter. Don't kill me if I didn't get them entirely right. They were all from my memory and I haven't seen FotR for a while. Anyway, thanks to my reviewers. growls at the non-reviewing readers


	12. Out of the Mines

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back where they belong after I'm through with them.

**Chapter 12: Out of the Mines**

'So the quest ends here,' thought Balian, taking a high guard and preparing to do battle. He glared at the sneering twisted faces of the orcs. They bared their stained yellow teeth at him, but he was a veteran of many battles and was not in the least intimidated by the display. He gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly that his knuckles were white. If he was to die, then he would at least die a knight.

The orcs were closing in on them when what sounded like a guttural growl caught the foul creatures' attention and sent them scrambling back into the holes and cracks from whence they came. There was an unnatural orange glow the end of the great hall. None of them knew what it was. Legolas aimed in that direction, panic written all over his fair features. Gandalf's head was bowed in thought.

"What is this new devilry?" demanded Boromir in a shaking voice, trying to hide his thinly veiled fear.

"A balrog," replied the wizard gravely and slowly. He raised his head and they could see his eyes were filled with despair and determination. "A demon of the shadow world."

On hearing Gandalf's reply, Legolas turned as pale as the moon's face. His eyes were wide with terror and he was swallowing rapidly.

"This foe is beyond any of you," continued the wizard. "Run!"

The entire Fellowship sprang into action, speeding for the exit. 'I wish he'd told us to do this earlier,' thought Balian wryly as the air around them began to grow warmer. They were running through a narrow tunnel and it seemed as if all of hell itself was on their tail. 'I could have done without the explanation.'

Boromir was the first to run out of the tunnel, closely followed by Legolas. A moment later, Balian heard a cry from Boromir. The stairs at the end of the tunnel had only a few steps. If Boromir had not stopped in time or if Legolas had not pulled him back, the man from Gondor would've fallen to his death in the dark hungry depths of Moria. It was fortunate that the hobbits —who were just behind the elf— had managed to stop also. One more step from Sam and his momentum would've caused six of the Fellowship to plunge to their deaths.

There was another flight of stairs carved into the wall at ht moth of the tunnel. It went at right-angles to the stairs that Boromir nearly fell from.

"Lead them on, Aragorn," cried Gandalf, gripping the man's shoulder tightly. "The bridge is near!"

Aragorn hesitated but Gandalf shoved him roughly. "Go!" he shouted. "Swords are of no more use here!"

Balian suddenly understood why Aragorn was reluctant to do as Gandalf asked. The old wizard intended to fight this evil alone! "I'll fight beside you, Gandalf," he cried. "I can't leave you to do this alone!"

"No, you fool!" shouted the wizard, pushing Balian in Aragorn's direction. "You must go! You cannot fight this thing! I entrust the safety of the Fellowship to you two! You must not fail me!"

Aragorn and Balian stood there, stunned. Gandalf had just made the fate of Middle Earth their responsibility. At last, Aragorn spoke. "We will not fail you," he said.

"Good," said Gandalf. "Now go!"

Aragorn and Balian gathered the rest of the Fellowship and they followed Aragorn into yet another hall. Gandalf brought up the rear. The balrog's footsteps made the rock vibrate and shatter, showering the Fellowship with dust and other debris. They came to a part in the stair where there was a large gap, about seven feet wide. All of them were at a loss as to what to do, except Legolas. The elf took a flying leap and soared across the gap, landing gracefully on his feet like a cat. He beckoned to them urgently. "Gandalf!" he called. The wizard jumped and landed on the other side with Legolas steadying him. A few orc arrows landed just in front of Merry and Pippin's toes, causing the hobbits to jump in fright. Legolas lifted his bow and returned fire.

Boromir took Pippin in one arm, Merry in another, and jumped. Some of the stair crumbled beneath his feet when he took off but all three managed to make it to the other side. Aragorn tossed Sam across like a sack of meal and was about to do the same to Gimli but the proud dwarf declined. "Nobody tosses a dwarf," rumbled the stout bearded creature. With a battle cry, he leapt and landed just at the edge. If Legolas had not grabbed his thick read beard —much to Gimli's chagrin— the dwarf would have fallen to his death. When Gimli had been pulled to safety, Balian tossed Frodo over and Boromir caught the little hobbit. Then more of the stair under their feet crumbled, further widening the gap.

Now only Aragorn and Balian had to cross. "Go on, Balian," said Aragorn, eyeing the gap. "It's not going to grow any smaller." Balian nodded and said nothing. He stared at the gap and the darkness beyond. It was really very far and He would fall a very long way if he missed the other side. He turned to Aragorn, who looked rather uncertain, and then glanced back. The balrog was getting very close. Either way, there was almost a certain chance of death.

'All death is certain,' repeated Brother John's voice in his head. Balian was preparing to jump when a rather large piece of rock fell behind them; now the part they were standing on was teetering dangerously. The two men struggled to keep their balance. They heard the groaning of rocks as the rough surfaces rubbed against each other.

"Lean forward!" shouted Aragorn. Balian did as he was told. Aragorn had a very commanding manner.

Legolas watched as the two men stood on the brink of the teetering piece of dwarvish construction, striving for survival. 'Oh Valar, please don't let them die!' he prayed silently. "Come on!" he breathed out loud, opening his arms and preparing to catch one of them. The section of stair tilted forwards towards the Fellowship, then it toppled in their direction and the two men were thrown at them.

Legolas was almost knocked off his feet as Aragorn's body slammed into him. Beside the elf, Boromir had caught Balian and both looked a little shocked. The blacksmith and the Gondorian faced each other. No words passed between them. However, Gandalf would not let them waste any more time and they were herded down the stairs and towards a narrow stone bridge with no rails. It was then that the Fellowship finally got to see the balrog. It was a gargantuan flaming beast with a human like body and ram's horns on its head. Its eyes were naught but fiery pits in its skull and its skin resembled the surface of burning coals. It held a three thronged whip of fire in its clawed hand. When it opened its mouth to roar, flames and hot air came out, reminding Balian of his forge back in France.

'Satan must look something like this,' thought Balian, who could not resist looking back at the monstrosity that was chasing them.

"Hurry!" shouted Gandalf "Across the bridge!" The Fellowship ran across the narrow stone bridge one by one until they were all on the other side.

Almost all. Gandalf was the last to cross. He stood in the middle of the bridge, barring the balrog's way. The hot air currents made the wizard's robes billow about him. He held his staff in one hand and sword in the other, resembling a great warrior from the legends of old.

"You shall not pass!" he shouted to the balrog, brandishing his weapons and standing firm. The balrog snorted and took a step forward so that one of its huge feet was now on the bridge. It flicked its whip menacingly but Gandalf was undaunted.

"I am a servant of the Secret Fire," intoned the wizard "Wielder of the flame of Arnor!" He lifted his staff and conjured a globe of light around himself. The balrog pulled out a burning blade and struck at Gandalf. Its sword shattered on the shield of light.

"Go back to the shadow!" commanded Gandalf. "The dark fire shall not avail you, Flame of Udûn!" The balrog growled in annoyance and took another step forward.

"You shall not pass!" repeated Gandalf, louder this time and with every syllable articulated. The wizard drove his wooden staff into the rock of the bridge. There was a loud rumble but nothing else happened. The balrog snorted disdainfully at the Wizard's display of power. It put another foot forward. This time, the section of bridge it stood on crumbled beneath its feet and it fell into the dark chasm which separated it from the Fellowship. As it fell, it lashed out with its whip and caught Gandalf around the ankles, pulling the wizard down with it. "Fly you fools!" cried Gandalf, and then he was gone.

* * *

The sunlight was unbearably bright. The breeze was cold but he felt numb. Gandalf was gone. To Frodo, it seemed as if all hope had fallen with the wizard. Gandalf had been his guide, his mentor, his refuge. He let his feet take him away from the rest of the grieving Fellowship. He did not know where he was going. He cared not. He stood at the edge of a cliff, the Ring resting on his open palm. Everything seemed grey and silent. He felt lost.

Balian had not known the wizard for long, but he too felt a sense of loss. Without Gandalf, who was to lead the quest? He stood silent, remembering the short amount of time that he had known the wizard. Gandalf had seemed wise and gentle, reminding him a little of his own father. He had hoped that the wizard would be able to help him get back to France once the quest was over. Now it seemed the quest would never be over, and he would never see his home again.

Boromir had not known Gandalf very well, for it was Faramir who had spent time following the wizard and learning from him. Yet the eldest son of Denethor had placed his hope in the quest that Gandalf had led. He had believed that with Gandalf's aid his city would be saved and the glory of Gondor would be restored. Gandalf's fall had shown him that he could place his hope in no one; neither one of the wisest people in Middle Earth nor the heir of Isildur whom Gandalf was so keen on helping to regain the throne. No, only the Ring could save Gondor and Boromir would do anything in his power to get it.

Aragorn wished he could give the Fellowship time to grieve for their fallen leader, but circumstances would not allow it. They had to get to the woods of Lothlorien by nightfall or else they would be overwhelmed by the orcs that dwelt in Moria. He turned to Legolas. The elf was silent and his eyes were filled with grief, but he was not overcome by it. "Legolas," said Aragorn "get them up."

"Give them a moment for pity's sake!" cried Boromir.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs!" said Aragorn. "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien. Come Boromir, Legolas, Gimli…" his eyes fell on the blacksmith who stood as still as a statue. "…Balian. Get them up." The ranger did not look to see if they were following his instructions. He made his way to Sam, whose face was wet with tears. "On your feet, Sam," he said, pulling the hobbit to a standing position. Then he looked around. Legolas and Balian were trying to persuade Merry and Pippin to get up while Boromir was restraining a furious dwarf who was trying to get back into Moria. Frodo was nowhere in sight.

"Frodo!" called Aragorn, whipping his head in every direction, searching for the missing Ringbearer. He found Frodo, standing at the edge of a precipice and holding the Ring. He slowly approached the hobbit. "Frodo?" he asked quietly. The hobbit turned his tearstained face to the ranger.

"I wish the Ring had never come to me," said Frodo in a shaking voice.

"But it did," said Aragorn gently. "No one can change the past. We can only try to make the future better. Come."

Frodo reluctantly followed Aragorn back to where the others were waiting.

"Keep an eye on Frodo," Aragorn whispered to Balian. The blacksmith looked surprised at the request but he nodded.

The Fellowship made their way down the hill. The grass was fragrant and soft underneath their feet but no one took much notice of it. All they could think of was Gandalf's last moments and all of them felt guilty to some degree that they did not help the wizard even if such a gesture would have been futile.

It was almost nightfall by the time they reached the woods and they were all relieved when they entered it. To Balian, this seemed like one of the ancient sacred places that men were not supposed to go into. Apprehension gripped his heart. The woods were beautiful and unlike anything he had ever seen. The trees had smooth grey trunks and golden leaves hung from their branches. Dying sunlight filtered through the canopy, creating a golden pattern on the forest floor. They were like sculptures, these trees, except they were living.

"If I had come here in spring then my heart would be glad," said Legolas with a sigh.

"I am glad although it is winter," replied Aragorn. Elves were sometimes just too selective for their own good.

Gimli, however, was not feeling glad at all. "Stay close little hobbits," he said, beckoning to them. "They say a great sorceress lives here. An elf witch, of terrible power."

Balian raised an eyebrow. He was not superstitious and did not believe in such things. He wondered what Legolas would say if he had heard the dwarf's comment. It was fortunate for Gimli that Legolas was too engrossed in the trees.

"All who come here fall under her spell," continued the dwarf. The hobbits looked around in fear. Their eyes were wide.

"Well, here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily," said Gimli with contempt. "I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox—"

He had hardly finished his sentence when the tip of an arrow appeared, just inches from his face. Balian would have laughed at the dwarf's expression if he was not surrounded by hostile looking people who were pointing arrows at him.

"The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark," said their leader smugly. They all had golden hair and pointed ears. 'They're elves!' Balian realized. Suddenly, one of the archers who were aiming at Balian gave a panicked shout. The leader rushed over.

"What's this?" he demanded, seizing Balian's hand—the one that the orcs had branded. The elf inspected the mark and then looked at the blacksmith with so much hatred that it made Balian's blood freeze.

"You are a servant of Mordor," spat the elf. He turned to his companions. "Kill him."

* * *

**A/N: **Another evil cliffie! Please review! By the way, do you guys think Balian should go to Mordor with Frodo or should he go with Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas? Or should the Fellowship not split up and they all go to Mordor? 


	13. Into Elvish Territory

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back where they belong after I'm through with them.

**Chapter 13: Into Elvish Territory**

The elves prepared to shoot Balian and turn him into a pin-cushion. The blacksmith closed his eyes and prepared for death. He hoped they would kill him quickly. It would be painful otherwise.

"Wait!" shouted Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Merry, Pippin, Frodo and Sam at the same time.

"He's innocent!" said Aragorn.

"I can vouch for him!" declared Legolas.

"I can explain!" cried Frodo

"Don't kill him!" begged the rest of the hobbits.

The other elf arched his eyebrow. "Do elaborate," he said. "Why shouldn't I kill a servant of the Dark Lord, a haradrim, by the looks of him?"

"He's not one of the haradrim," said Aragorn. "He's from…another faraway country. He was shipwrecked when we found him in Hollin…"

Bit by bit, Legolas explained how they met Balian, albeit not very clearly, and what sort of person he was. The elf captain's expression became more and more perplexed.

"He was shipwrecked in Hollin," stated the elf flatly "and he is a blacksmith who just happens to inherit a sword with a ruby in the hilt."

"No, no," said Aragorn. "He was shipwrecked and we found him in Hollin."

The elf looked skeptical.

"Look here, Haldir," said Legolas impatiently "I can promise you that he does not serve Sauron." Aragorn recognized that tone. Legolas only used it as a last resort.

"Are you certain?" asked Haldir.

"I swear on my honour as a prince of Mirkwood that he is not a servant of the Dark Lord," said Legolas. "Will that suffice?"

Balian gave a start. Legolas was royalty? He turned to look at him. Legolas stood tall and proud. His eyes were cold and piercing and his mouth was set in a firm line. Yes, he definitely looked like royalty.

The elf called Haldir looked uncomfortable. "Yes, my lord," he said. "We will allow him to live, but we can let neither him nor the dwarf pass."

"They're part of this fellowship, Haldir," said Aragorn testily. "They have to come with us." The ranger was not aware that he had lapsed into Sindarin and now only the elves could understand their conversation. Frodo, who had a scant knowledge of the language, found the quick and heated exchange rather hard to follow.

After some hand-waving, raised voices and earnest expressions, Haldir finally relented. "Fine," he said, although his expression said it was anything but. "They can pass through the woods on the condition that both are blindfolded and the man is bound."

"Now wait here," growled Gimli "I will not be insulted like this!"

"A plague on dwarves and their stiff necks!" cried Legolas in exasperation. "You cannot pass if you do not agree to this!"

"I will oblige if Legolas here shares my blindness," said Gimli with an evil mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I am an elf and a kinsman here," said Legolas, growing angry in his turn.

"Now let us all say 'a plague on elves and their stiff necks!'" said Aragorn. "The whole Fellowship shall go blindfolded. Now hush, you two! I didn't see our young blacksmith complaining about his conditions."

Balian was already being bound and blindfolded. He had not said a single word.

"Well," said Gimli as a piece of dark cloth was wrapped around his eyes "just as well the lad didn't complain or Aragorn would've insisted that we go bound as well. A merry troop of fools we will look then."

"Alas for the folly of these days," said Legolas, who did not find the situation as amusing as Gimli did. "Here all are enemies of the One Enemy, and yet I must walk blind, while the sun is merry in the woodland under leaves of gold."

The Fellowship listened to Legolas' tirade with some amusement. 'Elves are certainly very strange,' thought Balian. 'Some of us were almost shot and he laments the fact that he is not allowed to admire the scenery.'

They continued their journey without their sight, led expertly by the residential elves along the safest paths. No one stumbled or fell. The woods had a fragrant and wholesome smell. It was how Balian had imagined heaven to be like. Birds sang in the branches above them and the trees rustled in reply. He thought that he had never heard a sweeter sound, save for his wife's laughter and Sibylla's musical voice. The ground was firm beneath his feet. The ropes that bound his hands sere smooth as if they were woven of silk. They irritated him not at all. Although the elves treated him with suspicion, they were by no means cruel and he was grateful for that.

They travelled in silence until one of the elves began speaking in their melodic language to Haldir. The two elves conversed for a while then Haldir addressed the Fellowship. 'It seems that the Lady knows that you are coming," he said. "She has ordered that you are all to go free, even the dwarf and the haradrim."

When Balian's blindfold was removed, he realised that it was night. These sacred woods looked even more ethereal under moonlight and starlight. The trees looked as if they had been crafted out of the finest silver, with each leaf lovingly wrought by its creator. The cool night breeze gently caressed his skin and tugged playfully at his hair, like the hands of a lover. "Oh Sibylla, I wish you were here with me," he whispered. She would have enjoyed this magnificent sight. He knew that he would have enjoyed it more with her by his side. Then guiltily, he remembered his late wife, Jocelyn.

"It is lovely, is it not?" said Aragorn, approaching from behind to stand beside him.

"Yes," said Balian softly. The other man did not seem to hear him.

"We need to get rid of that mark on your hand sometime soon," Aragorn continued. "It will cause you nothing but trouble."

Balian looked at his hand and scrutinized the unsightly scar. "How do you plan to do it?" he asked.

Aragorn took Balian's hand and inspected the mark. "I don't want to damage any of the muscles and tendons in your hand, so I won't be cutting the mark out," said the ranger. "I was thinking of putting another brand there to cover it and make it look like a scar from a really bad burn. We will need the proper equipment and sedatives so I suggest we wait until we reach Calas Galadhon. Until then, I suggest that you hide it from the elves. It makes them uncomfortable."

The blacksmith nodded but said nothing. The ranger put a hand on his shoulder. "Come," he said "get some rest. We still have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."

Balian followed Aragorn to where the rest of the Fellowship was lying on the ground upon beds of soft grass and golden leaves. Legolas was nowhere in sight.

"Don't sleep there," said Gimli to Balian, indicating a spot under a particularly tall and majestic tree. "The elf might fall in the middle of the night and crush you, lad."

"Elves do not fall out of trees," said Legolas' voice in annoyance from amidst the branches. "Only heavy and clumsy mortals do that."

"Hey!" protested Aragorn. "That only happened because you insisted that I would be safer sleeping in the manner of the wood elves than on the ground!"

Balian settled himself near the hobbits to watch the show from a safe distance. Only Sam was asleep. Merry and Pippin were whispering to each other while Frodo sat slightly apart from them, staring into the distance with dull eyes. Gandalf's death had hit the Ringbearer hard and the hobbit looked like he was in need of comforting. The blacksmith went over and sat beside him. Frodo turned around and looked at Balian with large sad eyes.

"I see him every time I close my eyes," said Frodo in a small voice. "I see the look on his face as he falls. Why did he have to be the one who dies? Why did he have to leave?"

"I don't know," said Balian softly. "I have yet to find the answer. I asked myself the same thing when my wife and child died. I only know that Gandalf loved us very much. A man can have no greater love than to lay down his life for his friends. As long as you remember him and the things that he taught you, he'll always be with you."

"You have a wife, Balian?" asked Pippin. It seemed that the conversation was no longer private.

"And a child," Merry reminded his younger cousin. "Anyway, he _had _a wife and child."

"What happened?" asked Gimli. Dwarves treasured their women and children very much. It was a tragedy to lose either and unthinkable to lose both.

"My child was a stillborn," said Balian quietly, not looking at them. He plucked a few blades of grass from the ground and twisted them between his fingers. "My wife fell into melancholy. She hanged herself one day while I was not in the house."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Pippin immediately, putting a comforting hand on the man's elbow.

Boromir looked in Balian's direction in surprise. Although he did not like the blacksmith, he felt sorry for the younger man. He would not like to go through what Balian had experienced and he would not wish it on anyone else, not even his worst enemy.

"How did you get your sword?" asked Merry, trying to change the subject. They were all feeling rather uncomfortable. There was nothing that one could say to a man who had lost those dearest to him, and in such terrible ways.

"My father gave it to me, before he died," replied Balian. Another death. Balian's family seemed to know the Grim Reaper very well.

"How did he get it?" asked Aragorn.

"He was the Baron of Ibelin," said Balian. Bit by bit, the Fellowship managed to worm his story out of him. By the end of it, they were all amazed at what had happened to their 'young blacksmith'.

"So in fact, you are not a blacksmith at all," said Gimli. "You're a knight!"

"You defend cities and build siege engines?" asked Boromir in disbelief. Balian thought he heard a hopeful note in the Gondorian's voice.

"You seduced a princess?" said Legolas with wide eyes full of respect.

"No, the princess seduced him," corrected Aragorn. "Weren't you listening?"

"Why did you decide to let Guy live, after all that he's done to you?" demanded Merry. "Why didn't you take up the King's offer?"

"Because it would've been wrong to do so," replied Balian. "To let the King kill Guy so that I could marry Sibylla and become Prince Regent would have been murder and adultery. I couldn't sell my soul."

"You would've made a better Prince Regent —and King— than Guy," said Legolas. "Then you could have prevented the war."

"I don't think the people would have accepted a blacksmith as a king," said Balian. "They would've overthrown me. Anyway, I didn't want to be king and I still don't want to be king. I'm just a blacksmith."

"No, you're a knight and a baron, not to mention the defender of a city," said Aragorn. "The Free Peoples of Middle Earth will have need of your services before the end."

"And I will be glad to serve them," said Balian "but for the time being, I would like to rest for a while. It has been a rather trying day."

"Aye, I second that!" said Gimli. With that, the dwarf closed his eyes and was soon snoring.

* * *

They reached Calas Galadhon late next morning. It was a grand city nestled amongst the giant trees of Lothlorien and Balian had never seen anything like it. All the houses were built amongst the branches and stairs curled around the trunks of the trees like climbing serpents. Everything was so graceful and elegant that he felt completely out of place. Haldir led them to a giant platform supported by the topmost branches of the tallest trees, where a whole delegation of elves awaited them.

Two very tall people, presumably the Lord and Lady of this place stepped forward solemnly to greet them. They were arrayed in fine garments made of light silvery material and they shone with internal light.

"Nine there are here, but not the same nine who set out from Rivendell," said the Lord. "Tell me, where is Gandalf? I much desire to speak with him. I can no longer see him from afar."

"Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land," said the Lady. Her voice was low and melodious. "He has fallen into shadow."

"He was taken by both shadow and flame," said Legolas sadly. "A balrog of Morgoth, for we went needlessly into the net of Moria."

"Needless was none of the deeds of Gandalf in life," said the Lady comfortingly. "We do not yet know his full purpose." She turned to Gimli, who was looking rather depressed. "Do not let the darkness of Khazad Dûm fill your heart, Gimli son of Gloin," she said gently "for the world has grown full of peril, and in all lands love is now mingled with grief."

Her eyes travelled over them, and rested on Balian. The man thought he could hear her voice inside his head. _'Welcome, Balian son of Godfrey,'_ she said to him. _'I have seen your coming long before you were born. Do not be afraid. It is by the will of the Valar and indeed the One that you are here. Your purpose is known only to them.'_ She released him from her gaze. He felt stunned. Who was this woman who seemed to know everything about him? He had so many questions that he wanted to ask her but she was already addressing the Fellowship, who seemed unaware that she had spoken to him.

"Go now and rest," she was saying "for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you shall sleep in peace."

* * *

**A/N: **Galadriel finally makes an appearance and the Fellowship finally gets to know Balian's story! Thanks to my loyal reviewers. You guys inspire my muse and me. Reviews make me write faster! So reviews please! 


	14. A Glimpse Beyond the Present

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back where they belong after I'm through with them.

**Chapter 14: A glimpse beyond the present**

The elves had erected a pavilion for the Fellowship on the ground, knowing that they could not sleep in trees. A meal had been laid out for them. They ate in silence while around them, elves sang. "A lament for Gandalf," explained Legolas.

"What do they say about him?" asked Merry.

"I have not the heart to tell you," replied the elf. "For me the grief is still too near and it is a matter for tears, not songs."

The elven song was melodious and although it was melancholic, no one could deny that it was beautiful.

"I bet they don't sing about his fireworks," said Sam, laying out the bedding. "There should be a verse about them." With that, the little gardener started to recite:

_The finest rockets ever seen_

_They burst in stars of blue and green_

_Or after thunder silver showers_

_Come falling like a rain of flowers_

"No, no," muttered Sam, sitting down after his recital "that doesn't do them justice by a long road."

Legolas sat alone, leaning against a tree and staring at the stars which shone like diamonds woven to a piece of black silk. Balian approached him quietly, not wanting to disturb the trance that the elf seemed to be in. He watched the stars with Legolas for a while before opening his mouth to speak.

"Legolas," he said carefully. The elf turned to him, wearing an emotionless mask. "I apologize for what happened in the mines. It was wrong of me to interfere with something that I did not understand. Forgive me."

For a while, Legolas did not react. He just stared at the man with his burning gaze, making Balian very uncomfortable. He wished the elf would lash out at him, shout at him, do anything but stare at him with eyes that had as much emotion as the jewels that they resembled. Finally, Legolas looked away.

"You know what, Balian? You are the most humble, compassionate and generous person I have ever known," he said. "Here I am, wanting to protect my pride and you come and apologize for something which was entirely my fault. I don't know what I did to deserve a friend like you."

"You flatter me," said Balian softly, inclining his head.

Legolas put a hand on Balian's shoulder. "It is I who should be asking for forgiveness," he told the man.

"I never faulted you," said Balian with a small smile of relief.

"So, err, I guess you do not hate each other anymore," said Gimli, who happened to overhear the conversation. He turned to the blacksmith. "And Laddie, do you really intend to sleep covered in orc blood and other filthy matter which I will not name?"

Balian grinned bashfully, looking down at himself.

"Come," said Legolas, getting to his feet. "You have even more talent for attracting dirt than Aragorn. There is a decent pool nearby. I'll show you."

* * *

Balian returned to the others devoid of dirt and wearing garments of elvish design. His other clothes had been washed and were now drying on some branches. 

"Make way for the Baron of Ibelin!" declared Pippin happily through a mouthful of supper that the elves had prepared for them. "My, don't you look splendid!"

Balian fidgeted uncomfortably. "I don't know," he said. "These garments seem to fine for one such as me."

"Didn't you wear any finery as a baron?" asked Boromir.

"Only when I had no choice," replied the younger man.

"Hear, hear!" shouted Aragorn, raising his cup. "Come now, enough talk about the fashions of elves and noblemen. Have some food before the hobbits eat it all!"

* * *

Balian's eyes flew open. What had woken him? No one else was awake. Gimli lay snoring to his right and Aragorn slept with one knee bent and his mud-encrusted boots still on his feet. 'Who sleeps with their boots on?' thought Balian wryly. A soft rustle caught his attention. He lay very still with his eyes half-closed; trying to fool whatever it was that had made the noise. 

A pair of furry feet passed by. Slowly, Balian lifted his head. Frodo? What was he doing up? Silently, he got out from under the blankets. His bare feet made no noise on the dew covered grass. He looked behind him. No one had been disturbed. They were all too tired. He waited until Frodo was out of earshot before following the hobbit. The cold wet grass was soft beneath his feet. He kept a constant distance between himself and the hobbit to avoid being seen. Frodo was following a white figure; the Lady.

Balian stopped and hid behind the trunk of a large tree when Frodo and the lady entered a clearing. Water flowed into a depression in the rocks from a spring. A silver basin sat on a stand of stone in the middle. The Lady picked up a silver pitcher and dipped it into the water in the rock depression. After having filled the pitcher, she turned to face the hobbit and spoke to him in low tones. Frodo replied warily. They were too far and their voices were too soft for Balian to make out what was being said.

The lady smiled as she approached the basin and poured the water from the pitcher into it. As she poured the water, she spoke, her voice growing louder, then soft again. Balian watched this with curiosity. There was something about the Lady that intrigued him. She was powerful and dangerous.

The Lady stepped back as Frodo went up to the basin and peered in. At first, nothing happened but then, Frodo's expression began to change. Balian watched on with concern as the little hobbit's face took on a horrified expression. He was ready to spring to Frodo's aid should the Ringbearer need him, although he doubted that he would be of much use against someone as powerful as the Lady or the supernatural things that dwelt in Middle Earth.

The Ring slipped out from inside Frodo's shirt and it dangled on the hobbit's neck precariously by its chain. It seemed to be pulling the Ringbearer into the basin. Frodo was fighting it but it was too strong. The water began to steam and boil. Frodo's face was lit up by an unnatural orange glow that reminded Balian of the balrog. Frodo looked as if he was seeing something terrible beyond words.

Just when Balian was about to leap out and pull the hobbit away, Frodo grabbed the Ring and fell back immediately. The water stopped boiling and steaming. The Lady gazed at Frodo through narrowed eyes. "I know what it is that you saw," she said "for it is also in my mind." She looked into Frodo's eyes deeply and held his gaze for a long time. Then Frodo opened his hand. The Ring lay on his palm, glinting in an alluring manner. It called to Balian, asking him to take it. Balian ignored its call the best he could. That ring was evil.

Frodo slowly extended his hand and offered the Ring to the Lady. Her eyes took on a dangerous gleam as she looked at the Ring and reached out with a shaking hand. "You offer it to me freely?" she asked in disbelief. "I cannot deny that my heart has greatly desired this." Even as Balian watched, she transformed. All the lights dimmed until she was the only thing that shone. No longer was she the gentle lady who had welcomed them into her domain. She had turned into something much more powerful and sinister, and Balian feared for Frodo's safety.

"Instead of a dark lord you shall have a queen!" she cried, lifting her arms. A great wind whipped her robes about her and they were not white anymore but of many colours. Her voice had become deep and it seemed as if there were two voices. "I shall not be dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Treacherous as the Sea! Stronger than the foundations of the Earth! All shall love me and despair!"

Even as she spoke the last word, the wind dyed down and light returned to the woods. The Lady was her normal self again, a slender elf woman clad in white. "I pass the test," she said. "I will diminish and go into the west, and remain Galadriel."

"I cannot do this alone," said Frodo in a pleading tone. He wore a troubled expression.

"You are a Ringbearer, Frodo Baggins," said the Lady. "To bear a ring of power is to be alone."

She lifted her head and gazed in Balian's direction. "Come out," she called. "I know you are there. You have been watching us."

Balian emerged nervously from his hiding place. His muscles were tense, ready to fight or flee. Warily, he approached the Lady.

"Will you look into the Mirror?" she asked.

"What will I see?" demanded Balian.

"Even the wisest cannot tell," she replied with a smile "for the Mirror shows many things. Things that are, things that were, and some things that have not yet come to pass."

Cautiously, Balian approached the Mirror and peered in. At first he could only see his own reflection then images appeared in the water…

…_Jocelyn was hanging by her neck from the rafters… Her lips were blue and her eyes were glassy… Balian was screaming for help… He cut her down, but she was already gone... He went mad as they dragged him away from his wife's cold body… His brother screamed in agony as he drove the piece of red hot metal into flesh and pushed him into the flames of his forge… The priest clawed at him in his death throes… Balian reached into the flames and pulled his wife's cross from his brother's neck… Sibylla looked into his eyes, imploring him to stay, but she did not speak…she looked like a queen again… she was not in Jerusalem…Her kingdom was falling…she fell ill, her face was pallid… her eyes slowly closed…A golden city stood beside the coast of an azure sea. There were hundreds of galleys in the water. A noble man stood before the city, his sword of bronze was drawn…A black ship was sighted on the horizon…there was blood, they were fighting a war…A wooden horse… and then the city was no more, in its stead, burnt ruins…_

Balian jerked away from the Mirror. "What does it mean?" he demanded. "What does it all mean?"

"I do not know," said the Lady. "You're purpose here is a mystery known only to the Valar and the One. I think you have seen a glimpse of what they want you to do."

Balian went away troubled. His thoughts dwelt on his visions. The visions of Jocelyn and of his brother Guillaume were visions of the past. What about his visions of Sibylla? Was she dying? And the golden city? How was it relevant?

* * *

After staying a month in Lothlorien, Aragorn decided that it was time to leave. The elves had provided them with boats, clothing and other provisions for which the Fellowship was grateful for. Balian shared a boat with Pippin, who had eaten too much of the elvish waybread on the first day. 

Before they left, they had all been given gifts by the Lady herself. Balian's gift had been a fine mail shirt which he now wore beneath his tunic. "You are a warrior, a man born to shape the world," she had told him. "Do not hide from your destiny, for I know that you will be of great importance before the end."

Pippin was examining his gift, a dagger of the Noldor elves. "I wish we could've stayed longer," said the little hobbit with a sigh. "The elves are wondrous folk, and I've never tasted such fine cooking."

"Maybe you can persuade Legolas to make dinner then," said Balian. Being with the cheerful hobbit lightened his spirits immensely.

"Maybe," said Pippin doubtfully "but he's a warrior. His cooking might taste like Aragorn's, and that would be a disaster, not to mention a tremendous wasted of food. Do you cook, Balian?"

"My culinary skills do not extend beyond the occasional half-cooked rabbit, Master Pippin," said Balian. "As for my knowledge of herbs and seasonings, it is sorely lacking, as my wife always said."

Pippin shuddered. "'Tis fortunate that we have Sam with us then," he said.

The Fellowship made camp when the sun began to set. Balian was busy building up a fire and gutting the rabbits that Legolas had shot while Aragorn and Boromir went off to find more firewood. Gimli chewed on a piece of dried meat, looking wistfully in the direction of Lothlorien while Legolas scanned their surroundings for any sign of a threat. Sam came back from the river with a pot of water. He put the pot on to boil and started to cut up the meat and put it into the pot for a stew.

Just as Balian was going off to bury the offal, he heard Aragorn call out.

"Balian, come help us! We've found a man in the forest!" The ranger shouted. The blacksmith quickly abandoned the offal and went towards the other men. Aragorn and Boromir supported the stranger on either side. As they drew nearer, Balian's eyes widened in recognition…

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter's slightly short. I've been busy with school and all. And who did Aragorn and Boromir find? It's a sort of evil cliffie, I know. Please review! I want to know what you all think! 


	15. Unexpected Guest

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back where they belong after I'm through with them.

**Chapter 15: Unexpected Guest**

Balian glared venomously at the newcomer. "Guy de Lusignan," he said in a low voice, almost spitting the words out as if they tasted foul.

"Well, well," sneered Guy "The Perfect Knight." His tone was haughty even though his voice was hoarse from exhaustion.

Boromir saw Balian stiffen and he thought the blacksmith might lose control of his temper any moment. 'Even he has someone who can bring out his darker side,' thought the future steward of Gondor. 'Who would've known?' It seemed as if in a matter of moments, Balian had become another man. When he was looking at Guy, there was very little left in him of the gentle blacksmith that they knew.

"Wait, wait," said a bewildered Aragorn "you mean this is the infamous Guy de Lusignan?"

"There is only _one_ Guy de Lusignan," growled Balian darkly "and one too many."

"Show some respect for your betters, _blacksmith_," said Guy arrogantly. Balian paled with anger. He balled his fists, getting ready to hit the man who had insulted him. To his credit, he did not lash out. Instead, he turned on his heel and strode away, his back as straight and stiff as the shaft of a spear.

Aragorn turned to Boromir. "Take him back to camp," he said and with that, he ran after Balian.

Boromir watched the ranger go, and could not help but feel admiration for Balian. 'That man has infinite patience,' he thought. 'I would have hit Guy if I was in his place.' He yanked at Guy's arm roughly. "Come on," he said curtly "Move."

* * *

Aragorn caught up with Balian a few moments later. The younger man was leaning against a tree with his face turned skyward. His eyes were closed and he was taking deep breaths. Aragorn approached him cautiously. "Balian?" he said softly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Aragorn," said Balian, opening his eyes "just slightly…annoyed."

"Listen," began Aragorn "I know there is bad blood between you and Guy but we can't just leave him out here to die."

"You mean you're going to take him with us?" demanded Balian.

"There is no other way. If he is captured, he will be able to give our enemies a clue as to where we are going. I'll try to keep him as far away from you as possible. It's all I can do."

"I'm not worried for myself. That man has no honour; I fear for Frodo and the quest."

"We'll keep an eye on Guy and an eye on Frodo. We won't let Guy near him. Come, let's go back to camp. I want to see how your hand is healing."

* * *

When the ranger and the blacksmith arrived at the camp, everyone looked surprised to see Balian's dark expression. He did not say anything as Aragorn inspected the newly inflicted burn on his hand. While in Lothlorien, Aragorn had used another burn to cover the orc brand on the back of Balian's hand. The blacksmith's face was blank and devoid of emotion as Aragorn examined the red and angry looking wound. He did not speak when the ranger declared that it was healing well. He made no sound throughout dinner and his mood seemed to affect everyone. The meal was a cheerless and sombre affair.

As soon as the meal was over, Legolas pulled Balian aside. "It's Guy isn't it?" the elf asked. "He's making you feel insecure and uncomfortable. I know he's tried to kill you twice and given the chance, he'd gladly try it again but you can't let him ruin everything. Everyone's very fond of you and Frodo trusts you. Your moods affect us all. Frodo needs you to be strong for him."

"I'm not worried for my own safety," said Balian. "I'm worried about Frodo and the Ring. Men like Guy are especially susceptible to temptation. He won't hesitate to take the Ring for his own."

"Then we must not give him a chance to do that," said Legolas. "Guard Frodo well; he trusts you. Don't let him down."

Balian nodded. "I won't," he said.

"Good," said Legolas. "Now take that grim expression off your face. It'll curdle milk and turn wine into vinegar."

* * *

Planning the seating arrangements in the morning proved to be difficult. Balian's boat was the only one with extra space but he adamantly refused to share his boat with Guy. None of the hobbits wanted to share with the newcomer either. Surprisingly, it was Boromir who solved the problem. He had taken pity on Balian and offered to take Guy if Balian would take Merry and Pippin.

Despite his offer, Boromir still felt tremendous dislike for Guy and although he did not hate Balian anymore, he didn't exactly like him either. The journey was tense. Guy talked about nothing but how Balian had stolen his wife. Boromir was not surprised. If he was Sibylla, he would have fallen for Balian too. At least the blacksmith did not sneer and he was not arrogant.

Aragorn kept glancing back at Balian. He seemed to have taken the turn of events rather well, despite his initial reactions. His voice was calm and controlled whenever he spoke, which was not often. Although Guy continued to insult him whenever he got the chance, Balian remained coldly courteous. This impressed Aragorn to no end. He knew how Balian felt, travelling with Guy. It was like him being forced to travel with Bill Ferny or making Legolas travel with either an orc or Gollum. Neither of them would have been able to hold their tempers in check.

True to his word, Aragorn tried his best to keep Guy away from Balian. He and Legolas often took Balian with them to scout ahead when they were on land. Catastrophe did almost occur once, when Aragorn asked Guy to collect firewood.

"That's a servant's work," said Guy, looking at Aragorn as if he thought the ranger was out of his mind to suggest such a thing. "Make the midgets do it, or the dwarf, or the elf." As soon as he finished the last syllable, a black blur came out of nowhere and slammed Guy into a tree. It was a seething Balian.

"Listen, Lusignan," he snarled. "We're all equals. If Aragorn asks you to do something, you do it. There's no master and servant here. And when you address my friends, you will do so with respect."

Everyone gaped at him. They had never seen Balian so aggressive towards something that was not an orc.

"Go Balian," said Pippin so softly that only Merry —who was right beside him— and Legolas could hear him.

"Aye, go Balian," Merry echoed while Legolas just grinned at the two youngest hobbits and said nothing.

Guy finally managed to push Balian away. He stormed off to do what Aragorn had asked, still muttering threats and insults under his breath.

After Guy had gone, Gimli let out a whistle of appreciation. "Well done, lad," chuckled the dwarf. "I didn't know you had it in you!"

"Obviously you didn't watch him kill orcs in Moria," said Aragorn dryly. "He fought like one possessed."

"Still, they were orcs," Merry pointed out. "Guy is a man."

"He's almost an orc," said Legolas. "How could you let him live, Balian?"

For the first time in a while, Balian smiled.

* * *

They reached the Argonath after five days' journey downriver. Even Guy was rendered speechless by the magnificence of the Argonath. The statues of Elendil and Isildur were as tall as a large hill and carved out of the cliffs. Boromir glanced back at Guy. The man was wearing an awestruck expression tinted with envy. From what Balian had told him, Boromir guessed that Guy probably regretted not building statues like these of himself while he was king.

"Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old," said Aragorn in wonder "my kin."

'Aragorn is royalty?' thought Balian in disbelief. The ranger never acted like someone of royal blood. He was a good leader but a descendant of kings? 'It seems that most members of the Fellowship come from important families. I'll be learning that Pippin is the heir of a hobbit lord next.'

"You look surprised," said Legolas with amusement as he rowed past Balian's boat. Balian could only nod. "I was surprised too," continued the elf "when I learnt about his heritage sixty years ago. The time will soon come for him to become who he was born to be."

"You mean Aragorn is going to become King?" asked Balian in a whisper, but Legolas did not answer.

* * *

They reached the Falls of Rauros that afternoon, where Aragorn ordered them to make camp and wait for nightfall so that they could cross the river to the eastern shore and continue on foot towards Mordor. Guy was not told of their destination, although he had asked many times. It was only through an unfortunate accident that he learnt about the Ring. Once, when Frodo had been bending over his bedding, the Ring had slipped out into full view. It had dangled tantalizingly in front of Guy, who had immediately been tempted. If Balian had not tackled him and wrestled him to the ground, he would have snatched the Ring from the hobbit's pale thin neck.

Aragorn was forced to give the barest of explanations about the Ring to Guy. The former King of Jerusalem remained undaunted. He cared not if Middle Earth fell to Sauron. The Ring could possibly help him to regain _his_ kingdom that _Balian_ had surrendered. If he needed to ally himself with Sauron, so be it. He could live with that. He voiced his intentions to no one, knowing that they would kill him if they knew of his treacherous thoughts.

Guy was, at the moment, the least of Aragorn's worries. There were orcs on the eastern shore and he needed to find a way to slip past their enemies unnoticed.

Legolas was even more uncomfortable and restless. A sense of foreboding had been growing in his heart for some time now. Something was terribly wrong, he just didn't know what.

"We should leave now," he said urgently.

"No," said Aragorn. "Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for the cover of darkness."

"It is not the eastern shore that worries me," said Legolas anxiously. "A shadow and a threat have been growing in my mind. Something draws near; I can feel it."

"Where's Frodo?" asked Merry suddenly.

Everyone looked up in alarm. Frodo had disappeared, along with Guy, Boromir and Balian. The three remaining hobbits sprang to their feet and ran into the woods behind them, calling "Frodo! Frodo!" in their high voices. Legolas and Gimli were already gone and Aragorn was busy looking for tracks.

* * *

Frodo needed some time to think, alone, away from the others. It wasn't that he didn't like them, it was the exact opposite. He was fond of most of them and did not want his friends to accompany him to certain death in Mordor. He knew what he needed to do, but he was afraid to do it.

A man's voice startled him. "None of us should wander alone," said Boromir lightheartedly, picking up another piece of firewood and adding it to the pile in his arms "you least of all. So much depends on you."

Frodo did not answer. Gandalf and Galadriel had both warned him about Boromir. He did not trust the man.

"Frodo?" asked Boromir. "I know why you seek solitude. You suffer; I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly?"

Frodo looked up in alarm.

"There are other ways, Frodo," continued Boromir "other paths that we might take."

"Your words would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart," said Frodo coldly.

"Warning?" said Boromir in surprise "against what? We're all afraid, but to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have left. Don't you see, it's madness!"

"There is no other way!" said Frodo backing away.

"I ask only for the strength to defend my people!" cried Boromir in frustration, throwing down the firewood in his arms. He extended a gloved hand. "If you would lend me the Ring…"

"No!"

"Why do you recoil? I am no thief."

"You are not yourself!"

Unknown to them both, Guy was watching them. Guy de Lusignan was an opportunist, and he knew that this was his chance to claim the Ring for his own. The Ring would give him great power; he could feel it.

Boromir lunged at Frodo, trying to take the Ring from him. He pinned Frodo to the ground and was desperately scrabbling at the hobbit. Guy was about to intervene and thus take the Ring but someone else got there first.

Balian found Boromir and Frodo struggling for the possession of the Ring. He gave shout and without another thought, he pounced on Boromir to try and pull him away from Frodo. In his anger, Boromir was unnaturally strong. With a thrust, he threw Balian against a rock, dazing the blacksmith. He pushed Frodo into the ground, stopping the hobbit from escaping. Balian got to his feet unsteadily and lunged at Boromir again, this time his desperation gave him strength and he managed to pry the Gondorian off the hobbit.

"Run, Frodo!" shouted Balian. "Get help—" He was cut off when Boromir delivered a punishing blow to his head and then unsheathed his sword…

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to all my reviewers last time! I broke my record! The showdown between Balian and Boromir is taking place. (laughs evilly) Will Guy intervene? Will he help Balian or will he help himself? 


	16. Reaching an Understanding

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back where they belong after I'm through with them.

**Chapter 16: Reaching an Understanding**

_The blade clashed against yet another tree trunk. Sparks flew. He let out a cry of frustration. Red haze filled his mind. He felt strangely disconnected and lightheaded, as if his soul was entirely separate from his body. ' Kill. Kill. Kill.' said the compelling voice inside his head. It was his own and yet, it wasn't. He struck out again and missed. The man was fast, too fast. _

Balian ducked another blow that would have otherwise decapitated him. "Boromir!" he shouted desperately, trying to stop the mad onslaught. He was tiring and the Gondorian showed no sign of halting his attack.

_Was that someone's voice that he heard? It sounded so far away. There it was again. Boromir, Boromir; someone was calling his name. Wait. He knew that voice and it was desperate. He'd heard it before, but to whom did it belong? Faramir? Was it Faramir? No, it couldn't be. His brother was in Gondor guarding Osgiliath. Faramir would never abandon his post. Who was it then. He couldn't remember. Come on, remember! Who did the voice belong to? Who could possibly be calling his name out here in the wilderness? Were they looking for him? Did they need his help?_

Balian stumbled and fell. Boromir swiped down with his sword. The blade landed squarely across Balian's upper arm. Thankfully, the mail shirt that the blacksmith was wearing mostly deflected the blow. The blade cut through the chain mail and entered his flesh, but did not reach bone.

_A cry of pain. Red. Red blood. What was going on? He recognized the man now. The blacksmith, one of his companions. What had he done? Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. He had turned on his own companions. And Frodo? What about Frodo? He'd tried to take the Ring. Was Frodo alright?_

Balian's cry and the sight of blood seemed to bring Boromir back to his senses. The bloodied sword fell from his hand and landed silently amongst the dead leaves on the forest floor. Boromir staggered backwards, horrified. "What have I done?" he whispered, staring at his hands as if they didn't belong to him. His eyes were frightened and mad. "Balian, I'm sorry…what have I done?"

Balian slowly stood. His left arm was bleeding heavily but the wound was not fatal and he paid no heed to it. He did not know what to say as he observed Boromir's pitiable state. The Gondorian needed help, that much was obvious. He just didn't know how to help him.

Boromir was truly traumatized by his own actions. He dared not look up into Balian's eyes, fearing the accusation and anger that he felt he was sure to find. He fell to his knees and hid his face in his hands. He was ashamed at his weakness.

"Boromir," said Balian softly. The other man had not meant to hurt him. He understood that. Boromir had been controlled by something much more sinister. He had felt it and had no doubt as to what it was that drove the man to insanity.

"Please," sobbed Boromir "forgive me…forgive me…I'm so sorry…"

"Boromir, look at me," said Balian in the most soothing tone he could muster.

"I didn't mean to do this," cried Boromir in a panicking voice. "I didn't mean it. I was just so jealous of you … everyone likes you…_it_ made me hate you…it made me do it. It just took control of me…I'm sorry…forgive me…"

"Boromir," repeated Balian, more firmly this time. "Look at me."

Boromir shook his head.

"Boromir," said Balian sincerely. "I forgive you."

Finally, Boromir lifted his head to meet the young blacksmith's gaze. He found no blame in those brown eyes, only compassion and understanding.

"Thank you," said Boromir at last, at want for better words. "I…I hope we can be friends."

"We are friends," Balian assured the other man warmly with a small smile. The two men clasped hands and marked the beginning of their ill-fated friendship.

* * *

As Balian and Boromir came to an understanding, Frodo fled deeper into the woods, pursued by Guy. The man was gaining on him and the hobbit began to panic. He had escaped one pursuer only to fall into the hands of another. This time, there was no blacksmith to save him. The whole journey, Gandalf's sacrifice, would have been in vain. In a rash decision, he slipped the Ring onto his finger…

Guy stopped in his tracks with jaws slack as his prey vanished into thin air. How was it possible? Frustrated, he cursed Frodo, the Fellowship, Balian, God, Saladin and anyone else he could think of who put him in the position that he was now in. Still confused he searched the ground for signs of the hobbit. Fortunately for Frodo, Guy was born a nobleman. He was a terrible tracker, having had no need to do so before. Thus, Frodo was able to elude him.

Frodo climbed atop a broken stone structure to better hide himself. As he settled himself against the stone, a sinister and vulgar voice sounded in his mind. "You cannot hide!" it said triumphantly. Frodo swore he could hear the speaker sneering. "I see you…" The hobbit was granted a vision of a great eye wreathed in flame. It was at the top of a dark tower which loomed over rivers of red molten rock. A great roaring noise filled his ears. As he stumbled back in terror, he fell from the structure and in the process, pulled the Ring from his finger. He landed with a thud on the soft turf.

When Frodo had registered his surroundings, he realized that he was alone and lost, until he heard someone call his name. It was Aragorn. The ranger had been starting to worry that something terrible had befallen the Ringbearer.

"It has taken Boromir," Frodo informed the ranger breathlessly. "Balian tried to stop him." He clenched the Ring tightly in his fist, ready to run if anything resembling a threat should startle him.

Aragorn started to approach the hobbit. "Where is the Ring?" he demanded, more forcefully than he had intended to. He was just so worried.

Frodo darted behind the stone structure. "Stay away!" he cried. His eyes held the look of a spooked animal.

Aragorn looked confounded. Did the hobbit doubt him too? He held out his hands with palms facing skywards to show that he meant no harm. "I swore to protect you," he said.

"Can you protect me from yourself?" retorted Frodo. Slowly, he extended his hand and opened it. The Ring lay on his sweaty palm, perfect, golden, shining and alluring. Aragorn's answer caught in his throat. He could not deny that he was tempted. The Ring whispered sweet promises in his mind. He would need to hide no longer if he took it. Arwen, Gondor, the world, could be his, if he only slipped it on his finger.

"Would you destroy it?" Frodo demanded.

No. Aragorn knew he couldn't. He knelt. His eyes were fixed on the Ring. With much effort, he closed Frodo's fingers over it and backed away.

"I would go with you into the very fires of Mordor," he said. He knew what Frodo intended to do.

"I know," said Frodo. His voice was thick with emotion. He was touched by the man's devotion. "Look after the others, especially Sam. He will not understand."

"Must you go alone? Won't you take someone with you for protection?"

Frodo hesitated. The image of Balian standing valiantly before him and his enemies came to his mind immediately. The blacksmith was daring and loyal, no to mention skilled and trustworthy. He was very tempted to take the man with him. Then he reprimanded himself for his selfishness. Balian was a dear friend, and he could not ask a friend to accompany him to certain death in the clutches of orcs or worse. Balian was young and he had his whole life before him. He could not deny him that.

"It is my task," he said to Aragorn at last. The man looked down at the ground without speaking. He accepted Frodo's decision.

The ranger's eyes fell on Frodo's sword. His brow creased in a frown then he leapt to his feet, sword in hand. The blade of Sting was glowing blue.

"Go, Frodo!" he cried urgently, echoing Balian's words which were spoken only moments before. "Run!"

Frodo glanced at Aragorn's face and then at the horde of approaching orcs. He was reluctant to leave the ranger to fight them alone although he doubted he would be of much help. Reason got the better of him and he fled.

* * *

Balian and Boromir heard the clamour of a fight in the distance. "Our companions need help!" cried Boromir. He put his horn to his lips and let out a sharp clear blast. "Come!" he called to Balian. "Let us go forth and fight as brothers in arms, for good or for evil!"

Balian didn't need to be asked twice. He and Boromir raced towards the place where the roar of orcs and the shrill cries of the youngest hobbits came from.

* * *

Guy had no idea what was going on. First, a hobbit had disappeared before his eyes and now he was being attacked by great black man-like beasts with red eyes and tremendous strength. Behind him, he could hear the others; the dwarf's barbaric war cry was unmistakable and neither was the ranger's voice. He ran towards them, hoping that they would be able to offer him some protection. To his dismay, he found them all occupied and outnumbered, although he had to admit that they were managing very well.

The elf had exhausted all the arrows in his quiver and had resorted to fighting with his twin knives. The dwarf seemed to have lost all reason and was taking on two of the creatures at once. They were twice his size. The ranger was holding his own, although he had almost been strangled.

The former king did not have much time to dwell on his thoughts. Soon, he found himself fighting alongside people that he had once scorned and for the first time, he appreciated them.

* * *

Balian beheaded yet another orc and more black blood splattered onto his already stained face. He concentrated on keeping himself between the hobbits and the orcs. Merry and Pippin were brave but they were not skilled enough to defend themselves against such a large horde. As it was, He and Boromir felt the need to retreat and call for reinforcements. Unfortunately, the others were probably just as outnumbered as they were. Boromir blew three blasts on his horn, but the third blast was cut short as he had to defend himself against an especially vicious orc.

* * *

Legolas could hear the clear calls of the horn. "The horn of Gondor!" he cried.

"Boromir," stated Aragorn immediately. He left the fight and ran in the direction of the horn blasts, leaving Gimli, Guy and Legolas to cover for him. He hoped he would not be too late.

The two men hacked in every direction. They made a formidable pair and Balian could see the possibility of surviving. He did not see the orc captain draw his bow and aiming for him.

Boromir did. He pushed Balian aside. The dark arrow that was meant for the blacksmith instead slammed into the Gondorian. Boromir stumbled but he kept fighting. It took more than one arrow to vanquish the future steward of Gondor.

Balian saw what had happened and he was shocked that Boromir would take an arrow for him. It seemed as if history was replaying itself. In his mind, he could see his father lying on his deathbed. Godfrey had died from an arrow wound much like this one. And like Boromir, Godfrey had acquired the wound by trying to save Balian.

The blacksmith slashed left and right, trying to get to his friend. The hobbits had joined in the fight by throwing stones and sometimes taking on wounded orcs. Another arrow hit the Gondorian, bringing Boromir to his knees. The wound was mortal. Despite that, the Gondorian got to his feet again and continued to fight. Boromir was a true soldier and he would die fighting. Balian lunged at the archer but there were too many orcs in his way. The orc shot Boromir again. This time, the Gondorian could not get up. An orc hit Balian on the back of his skull, and he was rendered unconscious.

The orcs grabbed Merry and Pippin, who struggled wildly but were too small to fight off the orcs now that their defenders were either dying or unconscious. They bound the hobbits and Balian and slung them over their shoulders. Having done that, they left. Only the orc captain stayed behind. He stood a few paces in front of the dying Boromir and put an arrow to his bowstring. It was at that moment that Aragorn appeared and threw himself at the orc. The arrow went wide as flesh impacted against flesh. The orc picked up the sword and shield of one of its fallen comrades and Aragorn took the defensive position. Nothing could prepare him for the ferocity and skill of the orc. The fight was long and hard. More than once, Aragorn thought that the orc would kill him. However, the ranger prevailed and at last dispatched the foul creature. Breathing heavily, he ran to Boromir's side. The man was dying but still lucid.

"They took the little ones and Balian!" he cried urgently.

"Stay still," said Aragorn softly as he inspected the other man's wounds. One look told him that they were fatal.

"Frodo," demanded Boromir. "Where is Frodo?"

"I let Frodo go," replied Aragorn.

"Then you did what I could not. I tried to take the Ring from him."

"The Ring is beyond our reach now."

"Forgive me. I did not see it. I have failed you all."

"No, Boromir," said Aragorn sincerely. "You fought bravely. You have kept your honour

Aragorn reached out to extract the arrows but Boromir stopped him. "Leave it," he said. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth. "It is over. The world of men would fall. And all will come to darkness and my city to ruin!"

"I do not know what strength there is in my blood but I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall, nor our people fail," Aragorn promised Boromir.

The dying man smiled. "Our people," he said, tears of happiness filling his eyes "our people." He held out his hand for his sword. Aragorn placed the hilt in his hand and he clasped it to his chest.

"I would have followed you, my brother," Boromir told Aragorn. "My captain. My King."

"Where did they take the hobbits?" Aragorn asked him, but Boromir spoke no more. Gently, Aragorn kissed Boromir's forehead. "Be at peace, son of Gondor," he whispered as a tear made a track in the grime on his face.

He stood. Legolas, Gimli and Guy were behind him. "Alas that we are too late," said Legolas. "We have slain many orcs but we would have been of more use here."

"Do not blame yourselves," said Aragorn. "You were needed there." He turned his head to the east. "They will look for his coming from the White Tower, but he will not return."

* * *

**A/N: **We were learning about this method called 'flow of consciousness' or something rather in English and I decided to try it out at the beginning of the chapter. Most of the exchange between Aragorn and Boromir at the end was taken from FotR, in case you haven't noticed.

Please review! Reviews are like food for the mind and most authors need motivation and fuel.

Thanks to all the reviewers!


	17. In the Midst of Orcs

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back where they belong after I'm through with them.

**Chapter 17: In the Midst of Orcs**

When Balian woke, he found himself feeling disorientated. As his mind slowly regained awareness, he realized he was partially upside down and staring at filthy orc armour; a result of being slung over the shoulder of a particularly large orc like a sack of meal. Slowly, he lifted his head to register where he was and soon realized he was in a strange country and hopelessly lost.

Merry? Pippin? Boromir? Where were they? Were they alright? He remembered seeing Boromir getting shot. Was he still alive? No, he had to be. He would not let his thoughts go down that dark road. Boromir had to be alive. Aragorn would've found him in time. The ranger would have heard Boromir's horn. Yes, Aragorn would find Boromir and Boromir would live. Aragorn was a healer.

Merry and Pippin—he glanced up—were captured along with him. He groaned inwardly. He'd been in this situation before. The only difference was instead of one hobbit, there were two. 'At least the Ringbearer escaped,' he thought optimistically, not feeling very optimistic at all.

"Hey!" shouted one of the orcs. "The scum's awake!"

"Is he now?" said the one which was carrying him. "Well, he can walk!" Balian was unceremoniously thrown to the ground. The impact drove the breath from his lungs and jarred his bones. Rough hands hauled him to his feet and cut the ropes which bound them. The orcs threaded a rope between his bound hands and made a sort of leash. The ones behind him gave him a violent shove and the orc holding the leash jerked on it cruelly, causing the rope to cut into his flesh. "Get a move on!" he snarled. Balian glared at the orc but stumbled along to prevent himself from being dragged.

Balian risked looking backwards to see if the hobbits were alright; Pippin seemed fine and alert but Merry was barely conscious. A gash on his forehead was bleeding sluggishly. Pippin was calling to Merry but the other hobbit did not respond. Frantically, the little hobbit looked around for help. His eyes fell on an orc taking a drink from a water skin.

"My friend is sick!" cried Pippin, daring to risk the wrath of the orcs. Balian was filled with admiration for Pippin's courage and devotion. Merry was very fortunate to have a friend and cousin such as the young Took.

"He needs water, please!" continued Pippin, trying to appeal to the orcs' sense of mercy which, unluckily for the hobbits, was sorely lacking.

"Sick is he?" sneered the orc captain. "Give him some medicine, boys!"

A foul brown concoction was poured down Merry's throat, making him choke and retch. Balian gave a shout and tried to go to the hobbit's aid but was quickly brought to his knees by a hard blow to the stomach.

"No, stop!" cried Pippin desperately. He had only wanted to help and now two of his friends were getting hurt.

"Why?" demanded the orc captain. "Do you want some?"

"No," said Pippin in a small frightened voice.

"Then keep your mouth _shut_."

Balian was pulled back to his feet by his hair and they resumed their journey across lush green plains dotted with occasional scraggly bushes. He felt dizzy from the head wound which he had received during the battle and his feet were weary. These orcs seemed to have no limits to their energy levels. They pushed on at a rapid pace. He wished they would stop for a rest. He felt he was going to keel over any moment. Only his pride and determination kept him going. Soon, that would not suffice. He needed to find a way to escape.

The orcs would surely need to rest sooner or later. When that happens, he would somehow untie the ropes while the orcs were not looking, take Merry and Pippin, and run. It was not the best of plans but it was all his tired mind could come up with.

Balian's prediction came true. The orcs halted their march in the late afternoon. After a meal of stale bread, of which the prisoners had no share, most of them fell asleep, including the orc who was in charge of the blacksmith. Slowly, the man crept up to his guard and discreetly freed himself from the leash. With his hands still bound, he sneaked up to where Merry and Pippin were dozing. He nudged them awake and indicated that they should go, after they had untied each other's bonds. The orc medicine might've been foul, but it was effective. Merry had regained alertness.

Carefully, the three of them picked their way across the temporary orc camp. If anyone woke, they were doomed. Once they were at the edge of the orc camp, Pippin undid his brooch from Lothlorien and laid it on the ground where only the most observant of trackers could find it. "Aragorn," he mouthed. Balian nodded. It was a good idea to let the others know that they were still alive.

They were about to head off to their freedom when an orc tackled Balian from behind, knocking him to the ground. The other orcs were not far behind. Soon they were surrounded and recaptured, only a few minutes into their escape attempt. They dragged the struggling blacksmith and the frightened hobbits back to the orc captain and deposited the prisoners at his feet. "Trying to escape, are we?" snarled the orc captain. "You need to learn a lesson." He advanced towards the hobbits, but Balian planted himself in front of them. "Pick on someone your own size," growled the man.

"My pleasure," said the orc, grabbing Balian by the collar and lifting him off his feet. He kneed the man in the abdomen then threw him to the others. "What is the punishment for escaping?" he demanded gleefully.

"Eighty lashes, methinks," replied another orc who was unfurling a wicked looking leather whip. He struck down hard. There was a metallic sound as the whip connected with Balian's body. The orc grunted in surprise. "E's wearin' somethin' underneath!"

They divested the man of his shirt to find the chain mail given to him by the elves. It was forcefully removed. Balian was pushed onto his knees, held down by strong, manacle-like hands. His undershirt was torn from his body, revealing skin already marked by another whip.

"So he's tasted the lash before," said the orc captain with a smile. "Good. He can now compare."

The first lash left a stripe of sharp fire. He arched his back in pain and clenched his teeth to keep himself from crying out.

The hobbits watched in horror as the orcs laid into the man. Each expertly delivered lash opened his flesh, leaving a vivid line of red. He grunted with each blow, refusing to let his spirit be broken. He had survived this once and he would do so again. After eighty lashes, his back was a mess of shredded skin and torn flesh. The orcs left him lying in a bleeding heap on the ground and went back to sleep. The doubted the captives would try to escape again so soon.

* * *

Guy was exhausted, not to mention extremely irritated. That ranger was leading them on a mad chase. He knew it. Moreover, they had run three days across endless grasslands to rescue two midgets and a cursed blacksmith whom the world was probably better off without. He didn't belong here, chasing after errant and irrelevant … beings.

"Hurry!" cried Aragorn from the front of the long, stretched-out column. "Their pace has quickened! They must have caught our scent!"

He and Legolas sped off, while behind them, Gimli struggled to keep up and Guy lagged at the back. The elf glanced behind him. Guy found his intense blue gaze disconcerting. It was as if the elf could see every thing that was going on inside his mind. "Come, Gimli!" called Legolas encouragingly. "We're gaining on them!" To Guy, he said, "If you don't want to come, we're more than happy to leave you behind."

Guy reluctantly quickened his pace. It would not do for him to be left behind. He would starve in the wild; the others had the rations and he had been foolish enough not to take any before they started the pursuit, believing that the others would share with him, which they did, albeit reluctantly.

He overtook Gimli, who was using his axe as a walking stick and talking to himself, complaining about their progress, or rather, the lack of. Apparently no one had advised him to take off his armour and it certainly did not occur to him that it would make things easier if he took it off.

* * *

Night fell. The orcs stopped by the edge of an immense forest. Even they were too tired to go on. Balian collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. His back burned with vengeance. It hurt too much to move. The orcs had given him back his shirt, although they withheld the chain mail. It was now stained with blood.

The prisoners lay on the ground, either too tired or too frightened to move. All around them, orcs were cutting down branches with their axes to start a fire.

A strange groaning sound came from the forest. It sounded like moans of pain and anger.

"What's making that noise?" asked Pippin fearfully.

"It's the trees," breathed Merry in awe. That didn't register very well in Balian's weary mind. Trees didn't make noises like that, at least, the ones in France and the Holy Land didn't. 'You're in Middle Earth, you fool,' he reminded himself. 'Anything can happen.' He thought no more about the trees and closed his eyes to try and sleep while he could.

"I'm starvin'," growled an orc "and we ain't had nothin' but maggoty bread for three stinkin' days!"

"Yeah," said another in a whiny voice. "Why can't we have some meat?" It was one of the smaller orcs, the type which Balian had encountered during his side trip on Caradhras. The orc's yellow eyes fell on the hobbits and Balian. "What about them?" it demanded. "They're fresh."

Balian's eyes snapped open. The orcs wanted to eat them? He was in no shape to fight. If the orcs were really going to eat them, then there was no chance that they would survive.

The orc captain picked up Merry and Pippin by the collars of their shirts and dumped them behind him. "They are not for eating," he growled.

"What about their legs?" asked another with a dark leathery face. "They don't need those. Oooh, they look tasty…"

"Get back, scum!" snarled the orc captain, shoving the other orc hard. "The prisoners go to Saruman, alive and unspoiled."

"Alive?" asked Leather-Face. "Why alive? Do they give good sport?" He began to salivate. Balian tensed. Sport. He knew what that meant and heaven help him if he should let them hurt Merry or Pippin.

"They have something," explained the orc captain. He sounded surprisingly patient. "An elvish weapon. The master wants it for the war."

"They think we have the Ring," whispered Pippin to Merry.

"Shh!" hissed the Brandybuck. "As soon as they find out we don't we're dead!"

Unbeknownst to the orc captain, the orc who had suggested eating the hobbits was sneaking up behind them. "Carve 'em up," he was saying, with his sword raised "just a mouthful…"

The orc captain reacted just in time to save Merry and Pippin. He swung around, and beheaded the offending orc with one swipe. The head flew into the air before landing at Merry and Pippin's feet. The body slowly toppled over. At first, the orcs did not know what to think. Then the orc captain smiled. "Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!" he roared.

The orcs fell on the body of their fallen comrade, tearing the foul flesh from his body. Entrails were flung everywhere. They forgot about the prisoners as they feasted upon one of their own.

The hobbits' eyes met Balian's then they looked towards the forest. All of them nodded at once and started to crawl towards it.

An iron shod foot came down upon the hobbits, trapping them beneath it. The hobbits glanced up in terror at the sneering face of an orc. It was Leather-Face. "Go on," he hissed "call for help! Squeal! No one's gonna save you now!"

Balian gathered all his remaining strength and flung himself at Leather-Face, knocking him off the hobbits. They wrestled with each other. In his weakened state, Balian was no match for the orc. Leather-face forced him onto his back. Pain paralysed him. If a spear had not come out of nowhere and impaled the orc, Balian's soul would have been on its way to purgatory to be judged.

Confusion erupted. "Go, now!" cried Balian to the hobbits. The hobbits did not need to be told twice. They crawled as quickly as they could between horses' hooves and iron shod feet towards the forest. Balian tried to follow them, but he was not as nimble as they were. Something struck him in the shoulder from behind. One of the horsemen had shot him.

* * *

Éomer surveyed the carnage. The battle had been bloody and brief as the orcs had been unprepared. The last of the orcs were being dispatched when one of his men called out to him.

"My lord Éomer! Over here!"

Éomer rode over to where the man was beckoning. A dark-skinned man lay facedown on the ground, one of the haradrim, he deemed. His shirt was bloody and the stump of an arrow protruded from his shoulder. They lifted up the limp body. He still breathed. His face was young and he looked like he was about Éomer's age. "Bind him. We'll see what he has to say when he wakes."

* * *

**A/N: **Here we go. Balian meets Éomer at last. Dun duh duh duh duh dun!! Not that it's much of a meeting. By the way, I have this huge history project so my next chapter might be either late or short. Just so you know. Reviews please! 


	18. A Big Misunderstanding

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back where they belong after I'm through with them.

_This chapter is dedicated to Nelarun. Thanks so much for helping me with my Ned Kelly assignment. _

**Chapter 18: A Big Misunderstanding**

Legolas stared at the shimmering stars, humming an elvish melody under his breath. Occasionally, Gimli's rumbling snores drowned out the notes of his song. He found it comforting; at least he knew the dwarf was there. Sighing, he thought about their absent companions. Boromir was in the Halls of Mandos, Frodo and Sam were somewhere out in the wild, slowly making their way towards Mordor. The other hobbits and Balian were in the hands of orcs. The elf wondered if they were still alive; whether they were suffering or not. The brooch that they had found earlier away from the tracks of the orcs gave them a ray of hope. At least on of them was well enough to leave a sign. However, doubt ever gnawed at his mind.

In the east, a tinge of red was starting to stain the sky, like the beginnings of a bloodstain. Fear seized his heart and he was filled with a sense of foreboding. He remembered an old piece of folklore. "A red sun rises," he whispered to himself. "Blood has been spilt this night."

He whipped around to find his companions still sleeping fitfully, exhausted by the long and fruitless chase. "Awake, awake!" he cried. "We must move on! My heart is filled with dread and I fear that something terrible has befallen our companions!"

Gimli and Aragorn woke immediately and leapt to their feet, startled by the elf's outburst. Guy, however, only opened one eye and regarded the elf in a haughty manner.

"They've waited long enough," said Balian's archrival coolly. "They can wait a little longer. Anyway, what do you expect to do when you catch up? Jump into the enemy's midst and hack them to pieces?"

"That is better than leaving them to their fate," said Legolas icily. "No one will say we left our friends to die."

"I would never leave my _friends_ to die," said Guy. "Enemies are another matter."

"Fine," snapped the elf. "Stay where you are and good riddance!"

Grumbling, Guy finally backed off and got up. His face was full of contempt.

The other three did not wait for him. Legolas was already sprinting off. His desperation drove him ever onwards, giving wings to his feet so that the others were hard pressed to catch up with him.

* * *

His shoulder throbbed fiercely. His back burned with vengeful fire and he was being jolted around terribly. Balian slowly opened his eyes, expecting to see orc armour again. Instead, he saw…brown and white hairs? He lifted his head to better observe his surroundings. He was draped over a horse's back and in front of the rider. All around him were mounted warriors with long plumes in their elaborately forged helmets with horse designs. Their hair was long and flaxen, reminding him of Odo, the German mercenary. It seemed they had been riding for a few days and most of them were in need of a wash. They had found him, for good or evil. God alone knew where they were taking him and what they intended to do to him.

"My lord Éomer," called the rider on whose horse he was draped. "The prisoner is awake."

At least he wasn't 'scum' anymore. That had to be an improvement. The warriors' leader, an impressive man with hawk-like features turned his horse and rode over. He nodded at the other warriors who took him off the horse and deposited him none-too-gently on the ground.

Balian gasped as the treatment aggravated his wounds. He wondered at his bad luck. Everyone seemed to think he was an enemy for some sort for some unfathomable reason.

The riders' leader —Éomer, he recalled— stared down at him disdainfully. "Who is your master?" he demanded.

"I have none," replied Balian truthfully.

Éomer dismounted and approached the kneeling man. "Don't lie to me," he hissed, gripping the other man's wounded shoulder painfully. The prisoner tensed, but did not cry out even as blood seeped through his ragged shirt, staining it crimson. "Whom do you serve?"

Balian met Éomer's hawk-like eyes. He was not ready to trust the man. For all he knew, he could be a servant of Sauron. "I serve no one," he replied.

Éomer sighed with exasperation. He hated it when prisoners refused to bend to intimidation. He was not a cruel man who enjoyed inflicting pain on others, but he was a patriot and he would do anything to see the glory of Rohan restored. This man was an important key to his goal; he was sure of it. "I do not want to hurt you," he told the prisoner "but if you continue like this, I shall have no other choice."

"I speak only the truth," replied the captive stubbornly.

"Very well then," said Éomer coldly. Two could play the game. It was a matter of endurance, and patience. He nodded to his men, who pushed the prisoner down so that he was prostrate on the ground. The prisoner grunted as the warriors put their gauntleted hands on his shoulders. Éomer brought his horsewhip down across the man's back. The captive arched in pain, and red blossomed on the stained cloth of his shirt.

The Third Marshall frowned in confusion. He had not ht the man with so much force that the blow would open flesh. His horsewhip was capable of raising painful welts but to cause bleeding upon the first blow? He didn't think so. He instructed his men to lift up the prisoner's shirt to see what was wrong. Raw bleeding flesh met his eyes. The prisoner had been tortured not long ago. The wounds still seeped blood. Éomer winced. "Who flogged you?" he demanded.

"Who else but the orcs?" said the panting man. His voice was thick with pain. "I was their prisoner, and now I'm yours. What do you intend to do with me?"

"As I have said before, I have no desire to hurt you. All I want is some information concerning the enemy's plans. The orcs are no friends of yours and I'm sure we can come to an understanding."

So this Éomer did not serve Sauron. That comforted Balian somewhat. However, he could not give Éomer what he wanted, because he did not have it. "I know nothing of the enemy's plans."

"But you must surely know something," insisted Éomer. "Your race serves him."

"I don't know anything," said Balian, wishing that he did.

Éomer felt ready to burst with impatience. Never in his life had he met such a stubborn man. Driven to the end of his wits, he struck the man's raw flesh with his horsewhip. The prisoner sucked in a painful breath through his teeth. His pupils dilated and his eyes widened with agony. His body was as taut as a bowstring from the pain, but still he would not talk. The Third Marshall dealt his blows slowly and deliberately to cause as much pain as possible without doing too much damage.

Agony was layered upon agony as Balian was flogged for the second time in two days. Still, he refused to speak. He had said all that he had to say and if Éomer did not believe him, there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was to wait and endure.

Finally, Éomer gave up. The prisoner seemed to have taken a vow of silence. He would take his riders out of Rohan first before that traitor Grima Wormtongue sent forces out after them. Once they were out of Rohan, he would interrogate the prisoner some more. Sooner or later, the man would break.

"Put him on a horse and lash his hands to the pommel," he instructed his men. His eyes roved over them and fell on a young rider whose name he did not know. "You, what is your name?"

"Wulf, son of Ulfwine, sir," replied the eager young warrior.

"You're in charge of the prisoner, Wulf. Do not fail me."

Éomer left the stunned rider and mounted his horse. Wulf faced the bound and wounded man. "Come on," he said. "On the horse. You can mount, can't you?"

The prisoner said nothing. He put his foot in the stirrup and Wulf helped him to swing into the saddle. Although he was battered and exhausted, the prisoner was a proud and noble man. The Third Marshall seemed so certain that he would break. Wulf was not so sure. He wished that they did not have to inflict such pain on others in order to save Rohan. There was no glory in harming helpless people.

Wulf lashed the prisoner's hands to the pommel and then settled himself in his own saddle. "Why must you be so stubborn?" asked Wulf of the stoic man. "Lord Éomer is merciful. If you cooperate, he will let you live and set you free. I don't want to see them hurt you."

"Would you have me lie to buy my freedom then?" asked the prisoner softly.

Wulf was startled by this response. He was rendered speechless.

"I will never do that," continued the prisoner. "I swore to tell only the truth. I will not break my oath. If you do not believe what I say, then there is nothing more I can do."

"Forgive us if we find it hard to believe you," said Wulf "but in these times, we can trust no one."

With that, Wulf took the prisoner's reins and kicked his horse into a fast gallop to catch up with the others.

* * *

From the distance, Legolas could hear the thunder of horses' hooves.

"There is a cloud of dust ahead, and it draws near," said Aragorn.

Legolas lifted his long hand to shield his eyes from the sun. "There are about a thousand men," he said. "Should we take cover?"

"Nay, I do not think the Rohirrim are collaborating with the enemy," said Aragorn.

Legolas was not so certain, but he trusted Aragorn's instincts. He looked on with worry as the mounted warriors neared them.

"Riders of Rohan!" called Aragorn. "What news of the Mark?"

Legolas quickly changed his mind. Sometimes, he seriously doubted the ranger's sanity. This was one of those moments. Soon, the four of them were surrounded by a ring of hostile mounted spearmen.

One of the riders broke through the ranks. He was the leader, Legolas deemed. "What business does an elf, a dwarf and two men have in the Riddermark?" the rider demanded curtly. "Speak quickly," he added when they did not reply.

"You give me your name, horsemaster," said Gimli defiantly "and I shall give you mine."

The rider dismounted and approached them. "I would cut off your head, _dwarf_," he growled "if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

Guy produced a snort of laughter at this comment, but quickly became sober again as Legolas put an arrow to his bow and aimed it at the rider with movements so fast that they were impossible to follow. "You would die before your stroke fell," he snarled. The spearmen advanced on them, their spearheads directed at Legolas' head and chest.

Things would have gone ill if Aragorn had not intervened. "Peace," he chided. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, formerly known as Thorongil in your country. This is Gimli son of Gloin, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm. We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden, your king."

Éomer recognized the name of Thorongil. He had heard many stories of the heroic deeds of this legendary figure of Rohirric history and he admired him. "Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe," said sadly with an underlying tone of anger. He took off his helmet. "Not even his own kin."

This was a signal to the rest of the horsemen and they withdrew their spears.

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over this land," explained the rider. "My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished." He looked at the four weary hunters. "The White Wizard is cunning," he told them in a low voice. "He walks here and there they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets." At the last sentence, he looked warily at Legolas.

"We are no spies," said Aragorn quickly, afraid of how Legolas would react to this subtle insult. "We track a party of Uruk Hai across the plains. They have taken three of our friends captive."

"The Uruks are destroyed," said the rider sharply. "We slaughtered them during the night."

"But there were two hobbits and a man!" cried Gimli desperately. "Did you see two hobbits and a man?"

"The hobbits would be small, only children to your eyes," Aragorn explained. "And the man would resemble one of the Haradrim with his dark skin and hair."

Éomer began to feel uncomfortable. Was the man the prisoner that they took and… mistreated? "We saw no children," he said awkwardly "but we did find a man matching the description of your friend." He turned to his riders. "Bring the prisoner," he ordered.

Balian was filled with hope as he recognized his friends' voices. They had come for him, Merry and Pippin. Then his heart sank. Merry and Pippin were still missing and he had no idea where they were.

Legolas' eyes widened as another rider broke through the ranks, leading a horse behind him. Upon the latter was a battered and bloodied figure that he would recognize almost anywhere.

"Balian!" he cried. He turned to the riders' leader, his eyes burning with fury. "Valar! What have you done to him?"

"He was already hurt when we found him," said the man. "We thought he was one of the enemy's soldiers, so we…interrogated him. I am very sorry for this misunderstanding."

He helped Balian off his horse and undid his bonds. The blacksmith's knees gave away under him but his friends caught him before he hit the ground.

"So you were telling the truth," said Éomer sheepishly to the man whom Thorongil and his friends called Balian. "I, Éomer son of Éomund, do apologize for not believing you. No hard feelings?"

"No hard feelings," said Balian with a weak smile. "I accept your apology."

The Third Marshall still felt awkward. The man deserved more than just an apology. Then he got an idea. "Hasufel, Arod, Louan, Cynebald!" he called. Four fine horses trotted forwards. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters," he said to the travellers. In addition, he gave them rations and a clean shirt for Balian before he went on his way.

"Farewell!" he called back as he rode north. "I hope we meet in better circumstances next time!"

* * *

**A/N:** I wrote this chapter in between working on my history and biology assignments, so there might be more typos than usual. Wulf actually sort of belongs to me, not that he has a major part to play or anything. I'd appreciate it if anyone who wants to borrow him notifies me before doing so. Anyway, reviews please! I love reviews and will probably write faster if I get more of them. 


	19. Hot On Their Trail

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them to their rightful owners.

**Chapter 19: Hot On Their Trail**

"Where's Boromir?" demanded Balian hoarsely, as soon as the horsemen were out of sight. Aragorn stared at the ground and Gimli gave a saddened sigh. A few moments of awkward silence followed before Legolas finally spoke. "Boromir is at peace," said the elf. Balian stared perplexed at the elf before the meaning of the words started to sink in.

"No…" he whispered, horrified. "It can't be. He was still alive when I last saw him. He can't be dead!"

"Balian," began Aragorn "Boromir's wounds were fatal. We could not do anything."

"It's entirely my fault," declared the blacksmith quietly. "Boromir wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for me." The events of the past few days seemed to have caught up with Balian and he was going into mild shock.

"What are you saying?" said Legolas. "What has his death got to do with you?"

"That arrow was meant for me, not him," said the blacksmith heavily. "I should be the one lying dead, not him."

Legolas finally understood what the man was talking about. Boromir had intercepted an arrow meant for the blacksmith and Balian felt guilty about it. This was the hardest type of wound to heal. It was unseen and yet, it made the most damage. Out of sight, many would ignore it. Not Legolas. He knew about emotional trauma and he treated it seriously. The elf looked at Aragorn, who nodded in comprehension. The ranger understood this too.

"Boromir chose to take that arrow for you because he loved you, Balian," said the elven prince gently. "He wouldn't have wanted it any other way and he certainly would not want you to blame yourself."

Balian shook his head. He disagreed with the elf but he seemed to have calmed down and accepted the news.

Guy watched the others comfort Balian. He was filled with disappointment. Why wouldn't the thrice-cursed blacksmith die? He wondered what Balian had done to deserve such good luck. Maybe Godfrey was watching over him. That was the only explanation; some otherworldly force was keeping the _Perfect Knight_ alive just to spite Guy. Still, he was pleased to see that the blacksmith had suffered at the hands of his captors. Balian deserved that and more. At the moment, he had no plans to kill him. It wasn't that Guy didn't _want _to kill Balian. It was just that the opportune moment had not yet arrived.

Aragorn and Balian had gotten into another argument, much like the last one they had.

"Let me have a look at your wounds," Aragorn was saying.

"I'm fine," insisted Balian, although his pain-glazed eyes betrayed him. "It looks worse than it…" He trailed off as Aragorn silenced him with a scathing glare and gave up his protestations. Previous experience had told Balian that if the ranger wanted to do something, force was not going to stop him.

"No lad," said Gimli fondly. "You're not fine and the sooner you recover the better, so you'd better let him do as he pleases."

"But we can't tarry," argued Balian, trying another approach. If there was anything that could override Aragorn's healer's instincts, it was his sense of duty. "We have to find Merry and Pippin—"

"If you would just cooperate then we can get this over and done with quickly," reasoned Aragorn. He removed the tattered shirt from Balian's body then winced as he saw the painful looking weeping wounds. There was an old gash on Balian's left arm but thankfully, it did not seem to be infected. His back was torn and shredded by what seemed like a vengeful cat. The stump of a broken arrow protruded from his shoulder. He recognized it as one of Rohirric make but decided not to mention it. Balian would tell him in his own time.

"You and I need to have a discussion about the definition of 'fine' sometime," said Aragorn disapprovingly to the younger man as he treated the wounds the best he could. He sounded very much like a father.

"Then that would be a fairly short conversation, Aragorn," said Legolas with a mischievous grin in his eye. "His definition of 'fine' seems to fit yours perfectly, if I remember correctly."

"Your memory is definitely failing you then," retorted Aragorn without looking at the elf. He turned his attention back to Balian. "This is all I can do for now, as there is not enough water," he told him. "I'll treat your wounds properly once we find a stream."

"Thank you," said Balian. Aragorn helped him to put on the shirt which Éomer had given him.

"Well, lads," said Gimli "we'd best be on our way."

"There are only four horses," Guy commented acidly. "Who's going to walk?" His expression said that he definitely wasn't.

Balian chose to ignore Guy's expression. "You can," he retorted. "After all, you suggested it."

Guy was about to throw an offensive comment to Balian but Legolas stopped him with a look that he had more than likely learnt from his father. "No one will walk," said the elf. "Gimli can ride behind me."

"Ride?" demanded the dwarf. "Who said I was going to ride anythin'? I am keeping my two feet firmly planted in the ground!"

"You won't be able to keep up," said Aragorn. "You have to ride." His tone was almost pleading.

"Gimli, it won't be so bad," Legolas assured the dwarf. "I'll try to make Arod go as smoothly as possible."

"You've already claimed a horse?" demanded Guy hotly.

"I didn't see you indicating that you wanted Arod," said Legolas coldly.

"I'll take the bay—Hasufel," said Aragorn.

The only mare, Louan, nuzzled Balian's hair, flicking her ears backwards and forwards as if she was trying to make up her mind about him. Slowly, the blacksmith lifted his hand to stroke the pale golden neck.

"I suppose she's claimed you, my friend," said Legolas. "The female gender seems to be very much attracted to you."

Balian blushed, although no one could see it under the layer of grime on his face.

That left Guy with Cynebald, which was the horse he had initially coveted. The arrangement suited everyone fine, although Gimli clung onto Legolas so tightly that the elf found it hard to breathe.

The five of them continued in the direction of the place where Éomer had burnt the bodies of the Uruk-Hai. As they drew near, Balian could see the head of an orc stuck on top of a pike with its tongue lolling out of its mouth, making a grotesque spectre. The smell of burnt flesh and hair repulsed them but their determination to find their friends drove them on. Orc armour and weapons littered the ground around the mound of burnt bodies. They were all that remained of the group which had attacked the Fellowship and killed Boromir. Of the hobbits there was no sign.

Frantically, Aragorn, Balian, Legolas and Gimli dismounted although in Balian's case, it seemed more like tumbling from Louan's saddle and miraculously landing on his feet. Guy remained seated upon his horse. He didn't care about what happened to the midgets which the others were so fond of. The quicker they were away from here, the better.

Gimli and Balian rummaged through the charred corpses while Aragorn searched the ground for tracks. Legolas kept a look out for any signs of Merry and Pippin's presence. Balian found his mail shirt and the sword of Ibelin in the pile, covered in soot but otherwise unharmed. He strapped the weapon to his belt but left the chain mail draped over his arm. It hurt too much if he tried to put it on.

Finally, Gimli straightened. His face was filled with despair. He held up something for all of them to see. It took no expert to tell that it was not made by orcs.

"It's one of their wee belts," said the dwarf sadly. His eyes were filled with distress.

Balian felt numb. Merry and Pippin were dead. He had failed them; failed Boromir who had given his life so that he could live to protect the hobbits. He could see their faces; Boromir's eyes as he took the arrow, Gandalf's kind lined face, Merry and Pippin's grins, Frodo's earnest expression. He had failed everyone.

Aragorn felt the sense of failure as keenly as Balian did. He was the leader. He had been in charge when this happened. His frustration grew as Legolas recited an elvish prayer for the departed. The elf shouldn't be saying this prayer for the hobbits. With an emotion-laden cry, he kicked an orc helmet which was lying on the ground before his feet and fell to his knees, his face turned towards the sky as if demanding an explanation from the Valar. His hands were balled into fists, raised in a challenge.

"We've failed them," said Gimli sorrowfully, voicing all their thoughts.

Aragorn lowered his arms and bowed his head in defeat. Then his brow creased in a frown as something caught his attention.

"A hobbit lay here," he said to himself in a voice that was almost a whisper "and another."

'Does it matter now?' thought Balian in anguish. 'They're dead. Gimli's right. We've failed them. _I've_ failed them.'

"Their hands were bound," continued Aragorn as he read the hobbits' tracks like a book. "And they crawled… Their bonds were cut!" He picked up a length of coarse rope which had been sawn through. Hope crept into his mind. "They ran over here," he said, tracing the hobbits' tracks "and they were followed."

Hope grew in Balian's heart. Maybe the hobbits still lived. Éomer wouldn't have seen them because they had escaped!

"The tracks lead away from the battle," declared Aragorn almost gleefully. Gimli and Legolas raced after him while Balian stumbled behind them. Guy quickly dismounted and followed. In their ecstatic states, they would probably forget him and truly leave him behind. Without them, he would be lost and doomed.

Aragorn stopped in front of an immense dark forest with looming twisted trees, some of which still bore the marks that the orcs had made the night before. "…into Fangorn Forest," the ranger finished with an awestruck tone.

"Fangorn?!" said Gimli in a small voice laced with horror. "What madness drove them in there?"

No one answered him. Balian felt inclined to agree with the dwarf that only madmen would go into such a forest. He remembered the sounds that had come from it and shuddered inwardly. It looked as if it was alive and could swallow unwary travellers who would never be seen again. However, Merry and Pippin were hobbits and maybe their sense of danger would be somewhat different from that of men. He glanced at Legolas.

Legolas was also awestruck. Unlike the others, his face was filled with delight and admiration. Balian pondered this. The elf had hated Moria and yet this forest was just as dark and sinister, if not more so. The blacksmith shook his head. He would never understand elves. They were too confusing.

Guy did not know what 'Fangorn' meant but he hoped to heaven that they would not have to go beneath the eaves of those trees. He had no desire to die just yet and even if he had no choice, he preferred to die in a more pleasant place. Not even the suicidal Balian would go in there, he was certain…

Aragorn took a step into the forest and the rest of them followed. Guy changed his mind. Balian was truly suicidal, so were his friends. He looked back to the relative safety of the horses, then at the others' retreating backs. If he followed them, he would encounter whatever horrors the forest chose to unleash. If he stayed with the horses and something attacked him, there would be no one to protect him. He hurried into the forest after the others. It was better to encounter monstrosities with someone watching his back.

* * *

**A/N: **Whoopee! Fangorn! Wonder what Balian thinks of it. He's not that pleased, that's for sure. The poor man has been through a lot recently. I love feedback by the way so please review! This is slightly short because I've been so busy with all those assignments (Biology, History, English etc.) I do hate studying English literature. 


	20. In a Dank, Dark, Treeinfested Forest

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them to their rightful owners.

**Chapter 20: In a Dank, Dark, Tree-infestedForest**

The forest was gloomy and damp. Balian felt as if he was suffocating beneath the thick green canopy of leaves. The air smelled of water vapour tinged with the scent of rotting forest litter. Sounds seemed muffled in this closed space. There were no birds or insects to be heard. "This forest is old," he heard Legolas say "very old. Full of memory, and anger…" Every now and then, strange wooden groans could be heard. In front of him, Gimli whipped around, startled by the sounds. He heldhis axe tightly, ready to defend himself against an unseen foe. "The trees are speaking to each other!" cried the elf, whether it was in terror or in delight, Balian could not tell.

Although there was no wind, the trees waved their branches as if in response to Gimli's movements. The groans grew louder and multiplied until they were coming from every direction. Guy's hand flew to the hilt of his sword, eyes wide with terror. Balian looked around wildly, searching for the source of the noise. Despite what Merry had told Pippin and Legolas' words, he refused to believe that the trees were groaning and moving of their own accord. His refusal to believe in such things might have been due to the fact that he did not want to know what moving and talking trees would do to a man who cut them down for their wood. Later on in his life, he would not be able to remember the reason why he would not believe it but he would never forget the fear that he felt at that moment.

"Gimli!" hissed Aragorn, making a gesture with his hand. "Lower your axe!"

Slowly, the dwarf lowered his weapon, although he was as tense as ever.

"They have feelings, my friend," said Legolas quietly. "The elves began it; waking up the trees, teaching them to speak…" The elf's face bore an awestruck expression as if he was seeing a vision from heaven.

"Talking trees," snorted Gimli. "What do trees have to talk about, hmm? Except for the consistency of squirrel droppings."

The rest of them ignored the dwarf's tirade and ventured deeper into the forest. Balian glanced back at Guy. His archrival's face was pale from fear and he gripped his hilt so tightly that his knuckles were white. Balian decided not to mention that some things in Middle Earth could not be defeated by swords. It would only frighten the former noblemen more. Let him believe that his blade would keep him safe. Guy had a lot to learn and Balian felt inclined to let him learn it the hard way.

Legolas called out to Aragorn urgently in a foreign tongue. Balian deemed it to be Legolas' native speech. Aragorn ran up to the elf and said something in the same language.

"The White Wizard approaches," the elf said in common tongue so that all could understand him. Guy was visibly startled at the word 'wizard'. He had never encountered a wizard before and in his mindset, wizards were servants of Satan, priests of Hell.

Even Aragorn seemed shaken by this revelation. "Do not let him speak," whispered the ranger. "He will put a spell on us. We must be quick."

Balian did not know who the White Wizard was. He only knew one wizard and he was certain that weapons made of mere metal and wood would not stop any wizard who could inspire fear in people he so admired as courageous and fearless warriors. Still, he had no other choice but to draw his sword and be ready to defend those whom he held dear.

Aragorn whipped around with a roar, brandishing his blade at the shining white figure. Gimli threw his axes, but they shattered as the wizard hit them with his staff. The same thing happened to Legolas' arrows. The hilts of the swords grew hot and began to glow red. Aragorn, Balian and Guy were forced to drop their weapons. The light which surrounded the wizard intensified until they could not look directly at him. Guy fell to his knees, babbling in fright. He was so sure that this was the Angel of Vengeance coming to take him to Hell or wherever he deserved to go.

From within the light, a rich resonating voice sounded. "You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits," said the wizard.

"Where are they?" demanded Aragorn.

"They passed this way, sometime early this morning," replied the wizard. "They met someone that they did not expect."

"Who are you?" asked Aragorn. "Show yourself!"

The light faded and soon they could make out a kind face lined with age. The wizard's clothes and hair were as white as light from heaven and he wore a benevolent smile.

"It cannot be…" whispered Aragorn.

"Forgive me," said Legolas, falling onto one knee and bowing his head. "I mistook you for Saruman."

"I am Saruman, or Saruman as he should have been."

Balian was more confused than ever. He had watched Gandalf fall into that dark abyss. No one could have survived this fall and yet here was Gandalf, standing before them and looking perfectly hale.

"What is going on?" he asked with a perplexed look on his face. "Are you an apparition?"

"Ah, young blacksmith," said Gandalf. "I am not just an apparition. I have been sent back by the Valar."

Balian looked and felt no less confused. Sent back? Was it possible to come back from the dead? "You fell," he said to Gandalf.

"Through fire, and water," replied the wizard. His eyes became vacant as he remembered his trials and tribulations. "From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak I fought him, the Balrog of Morgoth." Bit by bit, he told them his story.

"…but now I have been sent back until my task is done," finished Gandalf.

"Gandalf," said Gimli, his eyes full of joy.

"Gandalf?" said the wizard, furrowing his brow. Then he remembered. "Yes, that was what they used to call me." He smiled. "Gandalf the Grey; that was my name. I am Gandalf the White, and I come back to you now at the turn of the tide."

He turned to them. "Come now, tell me what has taken place since Moria. I want to know what has happened to the Fellowship."

They sat down on some fallen logs and Aragorn began to tell Gandalf their tale, with constant additions made by Gimli and Legolas. "…we were scouting the area when we came across a stranger dressed in foreign garb," Aragorn was saying. He looked at Guy. "It was him, Guy. We could not just leave him there so we took him with us."

Gandalf pondered this. Two men from another world were in Middle Earth. They were archrivals. From Aragorn's retelling of Balian's story and the other things about Guy that the ranger had told him about, the new arrival boded ill for them, especially the young blacksmith. Gandalf still could not get his head around the fact that Balian was in fact a nobleman. He was observing Balian and Guy when Aragorn finished his narrative.

"It is ill-news about Boromir," he said. "I heard of his death from the Lady Galadriel. After I returned to the world of the living, I bid Gwaihir, the King of Eagles to bear me to Lothlorien where I could discover the fate of the quest after I fell. Lady Galadriel told me of Boromir's last stand, and she also gave me messages to deliver to you. To Aragorn I was bidden to say this:

_Where now are the Dúnedain, Elessar, Elessar?_

_Why do they kinsfolk wander afar?_

_Near is the hour when the Lost should come forth,_

_And the Grey Company ride from the North._

_But dark is the path appointed for thee:_

_The Dead watch the road that leads to the Sea._

To Legolas she sent these words:

_Legolas Greenleaf long under tree_

_In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea!_

_If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,_

_Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more._"

The recipients of the messages pondered the Lady's words. They were troubled by them.

"Were there no messages for myself and Balian then?" asked Gimli with distress.

"Indeed, she did bid me tell you this, Gimli," said Gandalf. "She said: To Gimli son of Glóin give his Lady's greeting. Lock-bearer, wherever thou goest my thought goes with thee. But have care to lay thine axe to the right tree!"

Gimli chuckled. Balian looked at Gandalf expectantly. The wizard turned his attention to him. His eyes were grave. "Your message, Balian, comes not from the Lady," said Gandalf "but from the Valar. You were chosen from the hour of your birth to travel through different worlds, to bring justice and to keep it. They have granted you the gift of immortality, not because you wanted it but because it allows you to fulfil your purpose."

"Immortality?" asked Balian. "My purpose? I know not of what you speak. I am but a simple blacksmith."

"That is the will of Iluvatar and of the Valar, not mine," said Gandalf. "I am as perplexed as you. The ways of the One are mysterious and beyond my understanding."

Guy stared at Balian. Immortal? How could it be? Was he not a man? Men were doomed to fade and die. Why was this blacksmith any different?

"Come now, let us not dwell on these morose thoughts," said Aragorn. "Merry and Pippin have yet to be found."

"Your task now is not to find Merry and Pippin," said Gandalf. "The first stage of your journey is over. Another stage begins. We must make for Edoras with all haste."

"Edoras?" said Gimli "That is no short distance. Have we come all this way for nothing? Are we to leave those poor hobbits in this dank, dark, tree-infested—"

The trees began to groan and wave their branches angrily.

"—I mean _charming_," finished Gimli "…quite charming forest."

"The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche on the mountainside," said Gandalf. 'If anyone can cause an avalanche, it's those two,' thought the wizard. "The Ents are going to wake up, and find that they are strong."

"Strong?!" cried Gimli. "Oh, that's good. Very good…"

"Stop your fretting, Master Dwarf," scolded Gandalf. "Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact they are much safer than you are about to be." With that, the wizard strode off. The others followed behind him in a single file, with Gimli bringing up the rear.

"This Gandalf is grumpier than the old one," grumbled the dwarf.

* * *

**A/N:** Once again, this chapter is a bit short but I have an English essay due really soon and I really need to finish it. Once all the tests and assignments are over, I'll make up for it. Till the next update :) 


	21. The Hall of Meduseld

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them to their rightful owners.

**Chapter 21: The Hall of Meduseld**

Everyone was glad to be out of Fangorn's dark shadows. Their joy could also be linked to the fact that one of their companions had returned from the dead and the hobbits were safe. As soon as Balian's tension evaporated, he felt the effects of his trials during the last few days catch up with him. He stumbled and would have fallen if Gimli had not rushed to catch him. Aragorn smacked himself on his forehead. "Ah, forgive me, Balian," he said. "I had forgotten that your injuries have not been properly tended to."

"I'll fetch some water from the stream in the forest," Legolas volunteered, gathering their water skins. Guy was reluctant to stay so close to the forest but he had no choice. The others were not going to go any further without seeing to the blacksmith's hurts.

Gandalf watched in silence as Aragorn cleaned Balian's wounds and helped him to put back on his shirt and chain mail. "You have suffered much," the wizard finally said. "I thank you on behalf of Merry and Pippin."

"There is no need to thank me," said Balian in surprise. "I swore to protect the helpless. It is my duty."

Guy snorted. Balian's tendency to be the Perfect Knight made him want to scream in frustration. This man would always be an obstacle on his quest for power.

The old wizard turned to observe Guy. He had finally guessed Guy's purpose. Balian's coming to Middle Earth had upset the balance of good and evil. Guy was his nemesis and therefore had been sent to maintain the balance. Gandalf shook his head, feeling sorry for the blacksmith. Guy had probably been rendered immortal too, just to make things fair. Poor Balian. It seemed that the young man was stuck with his archenemy for the rest of eternity.

"We shall make camp here tonight," the wizard said in a tone that permitted no argument. "The poor boy needs to rest."

Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas agreed without challenging the wizard's decision. Guy opened his mouth to protest but decided against it. If the wizard could make swords red hot and shatter arrows with a blow of his staff, what could he do to someone who disputed his authority?

Balian possessed no such subtlety. "Do not delay the journey because of me," he said. "I'll be fine. We should be on our way."

Aragorn rolled his eyes meaningfully at Gandalf. The wizard gave the ranger a wry smile then turned on the blacksmith. "No, Balian, we make camp here tonight," said Gandalf. "Tomorrow we travel to Edoras. Now get some rest."

"But…" protested the young man

"Balian, sleep," growled Gandalf, pointing at the man's bedroll. He wrapped a grey cloak around himself.

Gimli chuckled. "Listen to Gandalf, Laddie," he said. "He might turn you into a toad otherwise."

Balian gave Gimli a baleful look. Aragorn decided to join the fun. "Sweet dreams. Don't worry, we checked. There are no monsters hiding under your bedroll," joked the ranger.

"I'd offer you a cup of warm milk to help you sleep, but there is no cow," added Legolas.

"Maybe if you beg nicely, the elf will tell you a bedtime story," said Gimli with a straight face.

"Or Aragorn could sing you a lullaby," said Legolas.

Balian glowered at his friends with mock anger. It wasn't his fault that he was the youngest and he didn't see why he should suffer such teasing. Anyway, he wasn't really that young. God, he almost got to tell bedtime stories to his own child before…

The man pushed away those painful memories. Some things were really better left forgotten. He lay down on his bedroll and soon was in the realm of dreams.

Aragorn watched the young man sleep. He felt so protective of him, especially in moments like these. To him, Balian was barely more than a child. In his sleep, the blacksmith was curled up in a fetal position, clutching the blanket to his chest. All the anxiety was erased from his face and he looked so young and vulnerable.

"What are you thinking?" Legolas asked him.

Aragorn turned to face his friend. "He's so young. I can't believe that he's done all those things."

"His world shaped him," said Legolas "as did yours to you. Men who are destined for great things must pass through many trials and tribulations. You are like metal. Steel must pass through many fires before it is tempered enough to become a good blade."

"I couldn't have survived it without the help of my friends," said Aragorn. "Your friendship is like gold. True gold fears no fire."

Aragorn looked up at the sky. The moon was full and round, just like the night when Arwen declared that she had chosen a mortal life. His thoughts drifted to the conversation he had with Elrond beside his mother's grave. He did not want to be king and yet it seemed he had no other choice. He did not think he could be king and at the moment, he did not think he could save his country

"Legolas, I don't think I can pass my last test," he said softly to his elven friend.

"Why?" demanded Legolas.

"I don't think I can retake Gondor."

"Estel, you were destined to reclaim kingship. Have some faith in yourself. If you stumble, I'll be there to catch you. I won't let you fall."

The two friends clasped hands. No words passed between them but some things did not need to be said out loud. They both knew that no matter what, they would always be loyal to each other.

* * *

The next morning, they set off. During the night, Gandalf's steed, a majestic albino stallion with powerful flanks and long legs, had come. Balian learnt that his name was Shadowfax, and that Gandalf was the first to tame him. The horse reminded him of Pegasus, the flying horse of Greek mythology. His hooves seemed to never touch the ground as he raced across the plains.

During their journey, Gandalf explained to them that they were in Rohan, the home of the horselords. Saruman, another wizard who had fallen into evil, had taken control of the king's mind and was now creating chaos in this country. There had been a famine and a plague, and Rohan was quickly disintegrating. It would not take much to topple the country.

Balian wondered what six people could do against such evil. He remembered the question that the Bishop of Jerusalem had asked him before the siege. "Who do you think you are?" Heraclius had demanded. "Can you alter the world?" What had he said in reply? Yes. He had said yes. And he did change the world, however slight that change was. The memory gave him confidence. They may only have six people, but they would change the fate of this doomed nation. Or die trying.

They reached Edoras the next morning. It was a city built on a hill with the palace —a simple structure with stone walls and a thatched roof— on the very top and the houses surrounding it. It was sparsely populated for a capital city. Orphans were abundant. Their parents had been killed either in war, or by the plague or the famine. The children stared at the strange newcomers. Their eyes were wide in their dirty thin faces. Although it was bitterly cold, they were clad only in ragged and threadbare garments. Their feet were bare. Many of them had running noses and they were shivering. They huddled together in somber groups, trying to preserve the little warmth they had.

Balian felt a stab of pity. He desperately wanted to help them. These were the people he swore to protect. He paused, but Aragorn indicated that they had to go up to the palace. Reluctantly, he left the children behind. He glanced backward at them. They would have to wait until they had completed their business up in the palace, whatever that was.

Although it had not looked like much from a distance, the palace of Rohan was really very large. Guy, who had lived in the magnificent palaces of Jerusalem, was not impressed however. He considered this to be a rundown barn and not fit for common nobility, much less a king.

A lady clothed in white with golden tresses had been standing on the porch of the palace when they had entered the city. Now she had disappeared. Balian wondered who she was. Maybe she was the king's daughter. From what Gandalf had said, she was definitely too young to be the king's wife, unless the Rohirrim did not view age difference as an obstacle to marriage.

"The Great Hall of Meduseld," Gandalf announced when they reached the bottom of the steps which led up to said hall. They dismounted and climbed up, only to be stopped by a contingent of palace guards.

"I cannot allow you and your companions before the king so armed, Gandalf Greyhame," said the captain "by order of…Grima Wormtongue." He delivered this announcement with a grimace and an apologetic tone as if he was reluctant to carry out the order.

Gandalf frowned, then nodded at the remaining members of the Fellowship. They began to disarm themselves. Balian handed a palace guard the sword of Ibelin and bade him to take good care of it. He was amazed at how many weapons Legolas seemed to have on him. Even as the elf disarmed himself, Aragorn grinned at him as if sharing a private joke. Legolas did not seem to find this joke as amusing as the ranger did. He glared at the man.

Balian suspected that the elf still had weapons hidden on his person.

Guy seemed insulted that he had to disarm. In the not-so-distant past, he was the one demanding that people disarm before seeing him.

Once they were all disarmed, Gandalf started to go in, but his way was barred by the captain of the guards. "Your staff," he said. Gandalf looked startled and gave the man a doleful look.

"You would not part an old man from his walking stick," said the wizard. He winked at the others

The captain looked doubtful but he allowed them to pass. Gandalf laid his hand on Legolas' arm to give the impression that he was weak and old. As they walked through the wooden doors, Aragorn smiled wryly. He had seen just how much damage Gandalf's 'walking stick' could cause.

It was dark inside the great hall as it was only lit by smoky torches which left black marks on the walls. On the throne at the very end of the hall sat an old man with pale rheumy eyes and scraggly white hair and beard. He was clad in a moth-eaten fur coat and looked as if he was dying. Balian deemed that this was the king of Rohan. Beside the king sat a sickly looking man with a pallid complexion. His colourless eyes looked everywhere and were full of cunning. He leant over and whispered into the King's ear.

"The courtesy of your hall has somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," cried Gandalf in greeting. Balian noticed that there were malicious looking men lurking in the shadows. He tensed as he realized that they had walked into a trap.

"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" demanded the king slowly in a tired and rasping voice.

"A just question, my liege," said the king's adviser. He rose from his place and approached Gandalf.

"Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear," he said in an arrogant tone that Guy was prone to adopt. "_Láthspell_ I name you. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent!" commanded Gandalf angrily. "Keep your foul tongue behind your teeth! I have not passed through fire and water to bandy crude words with a witless worm." With that, the wizard brandished his staff.

'This must be Grima Wormtongue,' Balian suddenly realized.

"His staff!" gasped Wormtongue. "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

The men in the shadows lunged at them, their weapons drawn. Balian's eye fell on a jar. He smashed it and picked up a large shard. He could see Legolas pulling daggers from his boots and tossing one to Aragorn. Balian threw himself at one of them men, brandishing his makeshift weapon. With expertise he slit the man's throat with the broken jar fragment. A blow with a bludgeon to the small of his back drove the breath from his body and brought him to his knees. He rolled way from another strike that would've brained him. The bludgeon struck the floor and the flagstones cracked from the force of the blow. Before the man could lift his weapon again, Balian leapt at him and pulled him to the floor. The two men wrestled on the stone. Balian, being of a lighter build, was at a disadvantage. He soon became the man at the bottom. Driven to the end of his wits, he head butted his adversary, who immediately fell backwards, clutching his head. Balian scrambled to his feet. The two faced each other warily, each resting on the balls of his feet and ready to leap. The other man lunged first. Balian jumped out of the way and tripped up his adversary. Before the man could recover, the blacksmith stamped down hard on his neck, crushing his windpipe.

The battle was brief but bloody. Many of the men lay dead or wounded. Legolas had suffered a gash to his arm and Aragorn's head was bleeding. Gimli's nose was bleeding and Guy sported a beautiful black eye. Although battered, the Fellowship was victorious. Gimli had one foot on Wormtongue's chest and was advising the man to stay still.

"I release you from the spell," said Gandalf, lifting his hand over the king. Nothing happened. The king laughed. It was not a laugh of joy but rather one of scorn. "You have no power here, Gandalf the _Grey_," he sneered.

Gandalf threw off his grey cloak to reveal the brilliant white underneath. The king stiffened and leaned back in shock. He tried to shield his eyes from the light which Balian swore was the light of heaven. It illuminated the entire hall.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!" Gandalf cried with determination. The king cried out as if in pain. Gandalf brandished his staff and seemed to be wrestling with an unseen adversary. The lady clad in white chose this moment to enter. She saw what was happening to the king, and made to run to his side. Aragorn grabbed her by the arm and bade her wait.

"If I go," snarled the King "Théoden dies!"

"You could not kill me," said Gandalf, advancing on him. "You will not kill him."

"Rohan is mine!" The king lunged at Gandalf with an infuriated roar. His fingers were curled like claws.

Gandalf roared as well. There was a flash of bright light and the king was thrown back into his seat. The light faded. Gandalf was panting with exertion.

Aragorn let go of the White Lady and she rushed to the king, kneeling at his feet. Before their eyes, the king began to transform. His beard and hair shortened and became a light wheaten brown. His eyes became clear and focused and he lost the deathly pallor. He looked around in amazement as if he had just been born. Then he saw the White Lady.

"I know your face," he whispered, cupping her chin in his hands. "Éowyn…"

Théoden looked up. "Gandalf?" he asked in disbelief.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend," said Gandalf. Théoden rose from his throne, and the people around him bowed their heads in reverence. He examined his hand, flexing his fingers as if to test the joints.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword," said the wizard. The captain of the palace guards came forward, carrying a sword in a sheath decorated with intricate pictures of horses. He offered the hilt to Théoden he slowly wrapped his fingers around it and drew the weapon from its sheath. The blue steel of the blade seemed to glow. He raised it and tears of joy fell from Éowyn's eyes. Beneath Gimli's boot, Wormtongue shook with fear.

The king's eyes fell on the adviser and they narrowed with anger. "Take this vermin out of my halls!" he snarled. The palace guards readily complied. They roughly threw Wormtongue down the steps. The adviser cried out in pain as his body impacted roughly with the stone. He scrambled to his hands and knees even as the king advanced with a naked blade in his hand.

"I've only ever served you, my lord!" cried Wormtongue pitifully, backing away from his liege.

"Your leech craft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" snarled the king.

"Send me not from your side!" begged Wormtongue. Théoden lifted his sword and prepared to decapitate Wormtongue but Aragorn stopped him. Théoden looked at the ranger in confusion.

"Enough blood has been spilt on his account," said Aragorn.

Balian was confused. If this man had caused so many deaths then let him pay for it with his own life. He was not feeling particularly sympathetic towards Wormtongue. Such a man did not deserve to live. Guy was of the same opinion although both of them would have been severely insulted if it was revealed that they actually agreed on something for once.

Aragorn offered his hand to Grima. The adviser looked at it with loathing then spat on it. Disgusted, Aragorn withdrew his hand. Wormtongue wasted no time in flying down the stairs and pushing away the small crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle.

Balian suddenly felt lightheaded. Of all the Fellowship, he had fared the worst during the fight, on account of his wounds. He swayed on his feet. Legolas was at his side instantly, stopping him from following Wormtongue's example and rolling down the steps.

Éowyn was watching the people kneel before her uncle when a sudden movement caught her eye. It was the haradrim warrior who had fought Wormtongue's cronies. He had collapsed and if one of his friends had not been close enough to catch him, he would have fallen off the high podium of the hall.

"Is he alright?" she asked his friend, then instantly reprimanded herself for having asked such a ridiculous question to which the answer was obvious. Of course he was not alright. If he was then he wouldn't be unconscious.

"We need a room, my lady," said the warrior's friend. He had the bluest eyes she had ever seen and she suddenly realized that he was one of the Firstborn.

"Come with me," she said. She would give him Éomer's chamber. The elf hefted the haradrim onto his back and followed her. The warrior did not move. The dwarf followed them, his face full of worry.

"Is the lad going to be alright?" he demanded. "What happened?"

"He's tired and wounded," replied the elf, depositing the warrior on the bed. Another man came in. He was the one who had prevented Éowyn from running to her uncle while Gandalf had performed his exorcism.

"How is he?" demanded the newcomer.

"Relax, Aragorn," said the elf. "He needs to rest. Oh, it would be helpful if the arrow stump in his shoulder is removed."

The one called Aragorn removed the haradrim's shirt to reveal a scarred and bloodied body.

"Who did this to him?" demanded Éowyn, feeling anger growing inside her.

"Orcs, and someone called Éomer," said Aragorn. "It was a misunderstanding. With Éomer I mean, not with the orcs."

Éomer did this? She was going to kill him.

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter's long to make up for the short chapter. Balian gets to meet Éowyn soon. I know they've seen each other but that does not constitute a meeting. Yes, I'm very cruel to Balian and I know I should stop torturing him, but it's so fun! Anyways, till next time and please leave me a review to tell me whether you liked it or hated it. I wanna know what you guys think. 


	22. Journey to Helms Deep

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them to their rightful owners.

**Chapter 22: Journey to Helms Deep**

The haradrim warrior now wore more bandages than clothes. From his friends' talk, Éowyn had learnt that his name was Balian. It was a strange name but she liked it. She had sent the others off to rest after promising that she would look after their companion. The man was sleeping peacefully. Aragorn had removed the arrow in his shoulder.

Gently, she sponged the dirt off his face.

"Sibylla," he whispered, reaching out. She caught his hand. Who was Sibylla? His sweetheart maybe.

"Sibylla, don't go," he mumbled, clutching her fingers.

"Shh," said Éowyn. "I'm here."

The mumbling stopped and the man quieted. She extracted her hand from his grasp. She had to go and prepare for Théodred's funeral. Her dear cousin. How she missed him. Tears filled her eyes and threatened to fall. What was going to happen to them? What was going to happen to Rohan? She went out of the room and closed the door, swallowing rapidly as she did so. She had to be strong, both for herself and her people.

* * *

Balian opened his eyes. He was alone lying on a bed of furs. Slowly, he pushed himself up. Where was he? His body ached and he was hungry. Someone had dressed him clean clothes and treated his wounds. He swung his bare feet over the edge of the bed. Where were his boots? He found them, cleaned, beside the door and pulled them on. The stone floor was cold. He opened the door and found himself in a long corridor lit by smoky torches. Voices came from the far end of the corridor and he followed them until he could see the great hall, now empty except for a few people, his friends and Guy among them. The White Lady was now dressed in black. Her hair was pinned up and she wore a golden circlet on her head. She was comforting two frightened children who were shovelling food into their mouths.

"Where's Mama?" asked the little girl. Éowyn wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and hushed her.

"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash," said Gandalf to the King.

'Who is Saruman?' wondered Balian as he stepped into the hall.

"Lad, what are you doing up?" demanded Gimli gruffly. In one hand he held a hunk of cheese and in the other, a cup.

"I…" said Balian. Good question. What excuse would Aragorn and the others accept? "I was hungry," he said.

"Here, come and sit down before you keel over," said Aragorn, guiding him over to one of the benches. The ranger was inhaling smoke from a long wooden tube with a bowl at the end. It reminded Balian of people smoking hashish in the streets of Jerusalem.

"We were just talking about the problem of Saruman," explained Aragorn quietly as Gandalf and Théoden continued their conversation.

"Who's Saruman?" asked Balian, taking a chunk of cheese from the platter that Gimli was eating from. He bit into it. Food had never tasted so good. Aragorn handed him a cup full of golden liquid.

"Saruman is a wizard," said the Ranger.

"Maybe it's just me," interrupted Guy "but you seem to have very many of those."

Both Balian and Aragorn glared at Guy then the ranger resumed the explanation. "There were once five wizards in Middle Earth," continued Aragorn. "They were sent by the Valar."

"Heathen gods," said Guy scornfully. Everyone ignored him.

"One was Gandalf the Grey. Another was, and is, Radagast the Brown. The most powerful of them was Saruman the White. He was their leader," said Aragorn.

"What happened to the other two?" asked Balian. "You only mentioned three."

"The other two were blue wizards," said Legolas. "They disappeared. No one knows where they went."

"Saruman has recently betrayed us," said Aragorn. "He allied himself with Sauron and bred the orcs that killed Boromir and captured Merry and Pippin, and you of course."

"That's why Gandalf came back as a white wizard," said Legolas. "He's here to replace Saruman."

"What's that got to do with Rohan?" said Balian.

"Saruman intends to conquer Rohan," said Aragorn. "He has bred an army of orcs. Gandalf and the King are debating whether the Rohirrim —the people of Rohan— should fight or flee."

"We have not the strength," the King was saying. Obviously Gandalf had suggested that they fight.

"You have a thousand good men riding north as we speak," said Aragorn. "Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return to fight for their king."

"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now," declared Théoden. "Éomer cannot help us. I know what it is that you want of me, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

"Open war is upon you," stated Aragorn "whether you would risk it or not."

Éowyn looked at the ranger from the north, admiration apparent in her eyes. It took a lot of courage to speak to her uncle in that fashion.

"When last I looked," said the King "Théoden, not Aragorn, was King of Rohan." He did not bother to disguise the hostility in his voice.

"Then what is the King's decision?" asked Gandalf.

"We will make for the fortress of Helms Deep," said Théoden.

"Why does he not fight?" whispered Balian.

"He is afraid of fighting a battle that he is sure to lose," said Legolas. "Edoras is not a well fortified city and it is easy to conquer. Perhaps he thinks they will have a greater chance of surviving if they retreated to their fortress."

With that, the elf left Balian and went to speak with Gandalf who, with Gimli and Aragorn, was already stepping over the threshold.

Balian was left behind in the hall. He felt a light touch on his arm and turned to find the White Lady. "How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"Better than before," he replied, feeling slightly awkward. Why was a noblewoman paying any attention to him? He conveniently forgot that he had captured the attention of the Princess of Jerusalem once.

"I apologise for what my brother did. I hope you can forgive him."

"Your brother?" Balian was confused.

The White Lady smiled. "My brother is Éomer," she explained. "I am Éowyn, daughter of Éomund."

"I am Balian," he said. "I am pleased to have met you, Lady Éowyn. Do not worry about what your brother did. It was a misunderstanding. He was only serving his country. I do not fault him."

"I am glad, Lord Balian."

It was strange, for the haradrim warrior carried a soft lilting accent which did not come from Harad. His shy and soft-spoken manner reminded her of her late cousin. She suddenly felt protective of him. His race would surely cause her people to be hostile towards him.

"Why do you fight for us when your race serves the Enemy?" she asked.

"My race? I know no of what you speak, milady."

"You are haradrim, are you not?"

"No, I am… from another country far from Middle Earth." Balian found himself telling Éowyn his story.

"You've led men into battle?" said Éowyn. Hope grew in her heart. Maybe this man was sent to take Théodred's place, not that anyone could replace her cousin.

"Only twice," said Balian.

"That's more than what most men would have done," said Éowyn.

"I lost both of those battles."

"I do not think Jerusalem was a defeat."

"We both lost, Salah al Din and I."

"And you both won. Rohan will have need of your services."

"And I will be glad to be of service."

* * *

Soon, Balian's story had spread and grown. By afternoon, the whole city could put his name to his face and the story now said that he was the victorious commander of ten campaigns. He spent much time correcting it.

Aragorn had assigned him to the task of preparing the orphans of the city for the journey. The ranger did not want the blacksmith to over exert himself. Legolas and Gimli found this extremely amusing.

Legolas had dubbed him 'Balian the childminder'. Balian had wanted to wrestle the elf to the ground but then decided that he would probably lose and he forfeited the idea. Later, he would find a way to have his revenge but for now, he had children to look after.

He was soon laughing and jesting with the children as he loaded food and bedding onto wagons and latched the wagons to the horses that he had been assigned.

Legolas had to admit, Balian was a very able man. Not only was he a warrior and a craftsman, he would make a wonderful father as well. The man was walking with one small toddler balanced on his hip. He led Louan with the other hand. The horse also bore many children. They had all accepted him as a favourite uncle and were begging him to tell them stories.

"Maybe you should adopt some of them," one of the riders called out to the blacksmith as he rode past.

"Maybe I shall," said Balian.

"Or maybe he can marry one of the Rohirrim maidens," whispered Legolas to Aragorn. After they had gotten over their initial shyness, the maidens of Edoras had been casting admiring glances in the blacksmith's direction. Balian was a fine catch. He was skilled in all aspects. He could protect and provide for his wife.

Balian seemed oblivious to their attentions. He was too occupied with his charges.

He and Éowyn seemed to be getting along quite well. She now walked beside him, listening to him telling stories to the children. Occasionally she would ask him questions, mostly about his life and the Fellowship. Balian took care not to tell her too much about Frodo's quest. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. It was because he didn't want her to accidentally mention it.

Meals proved to be a slight problem for Balian and his little group. Each family cooked for themselves. Balian, despite all his skills, lacked the ability to make anything edible. Éowyn had offered them some of her stew but it did not look too appetizing and he had declined her offer as politely as possible. He did not want to discourage her from practising and improving her cooking. He shook his head as she approached Aragorn, who seemed to have accepted her offer of stew. The poor ranger did not know what he was getting himself into.

The solution came in the form of Legolas, who in fact did know how to roast rabbits and other game decently. As well as meat, the elf had a surplus of lembas, which he shared out generously. They sniggered as Aragorn looked over at them helplessly, a bowl of Éowyn's stew in his hand. Éowyn was watching him. He had to eat it now.

Once everyone was full, Balian tried to convince the little ones to sleep, without much success. They were far too excited to settle down.

"Tell us a stowy, Baelee," begged one of the younger children. Why they did not use his real name, he did not know.

"I don't know that many stories," said Balian. "Now go to sleep. We have a long journey tomorrow."

"Pleeease?" they begged. Balian looked to his friends for help. They pretended not to notice his plight.

"Let's count the stars," he suggested, hoping that such a boring activity will eventually put them to sleep. It worked. One by one, the children's eyes closed. He sighed with relief. Now he could rest as well. Nearby, Aragorn was inhaling smoke from his strange tube again. Legolas moved upwind from the ranger. Balian could tell that the elf disapproved of this activity. The blacksmith lay down on the grass and wrapped a blanket around himself. Beside him, Gimli was snoring.

* * *

Disaster occurred on the third day of their journey. Legolas was scouting ahead while Aragorn and Éowyn walked side by side, speaking softly. The ranger seemed saddened and distant. The children were too noisy for Balian to hear what his friends were saying. It was probably none of his business anyway. Gamling and Hama, two of the King's bodyguards, rode ahead, overtaking them. Moments later, Hama's bloodcurdling screams were heard, followed by a cry from Gamling.

Confusion and panic gripped the entire group. "A scout!" shouted Legolas to Aragorn, who had run to see what had happened. Aragorn raced back to inform the King.

"Wargs!" cried the ranger. The women began to scream and the children whimpered in fear.

"Riders to the front!" cried the King.

Balian helped the children to get off Louan. He mounted. "Lead them on to Helms Deep!" he said, turning to Éothain, the oldest boy

"I want to fight!" said the boy.

"You're not ready yet," Balian told him. "I need you to take care of the others. Now go!" With that he rode off to join the other warriors. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gimli trying to urge Arod forwards, without much success. The horse was backing up. In the distance, Legolas was already releasing arrows.

Coming towards them were orcs, mounted on the largest dogs Balian had ever seen in his life. Now he knew why the others were frightened. One bite with those slavering jaws could break a horse's neck. Could horsemen win over a pack of beasts such as these? Balian did not know. He didn't really want to know. All he could do was try and gain time so that the women and children could reach their destination safely. He drew his sword and swallowed, just as the first 'wargs' and horses collided, sending the horses flying backwards.

Louan swerved and almost dislodged her rider from the saddle as she dodged the onslaught of a warg. Balian slashed out with his sword, beheading the warg's rider. Legolas seemed to be making some progress. His arrows had felled many of the beasts and their riders while Gimli was nowhere to be seen. The King, despite his age, was holding his own. Balian had no time to be impressed as another warg, this time without a rider, assailed him. The fight was bloody and brief, with many casualties. The blacksmith was surprised that the Rohirrim were victorious and that he himself sustained no serious injury. He was pretty certain he would have gotten his head bitten off by one of those wolves from hell.

"Aragorn," he heard Legolas call out. He listened for an answer but there was none. Gimli's voice joined in. Balian looked around but could not see his friend. Where was the ranger? What had happened to him?

**A/N: **Sorry for the rather late update. I couldn't upload any documents during the weekend because the site wasn't working properly for me.For those of you who are wondering (and maybe hoping), there will _not_ be a romance developing between Balian and Éowyn. That would be too AU as Éowyn is meant for Faramir and she's too occupied with Aragorn at the moment. Balian just reminds her of her cousin. I don't think our blacksmith is ready for another romantic relationship anyway. Anyway, please review! I write faster when people review.


	23. In the Fortress

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them to their rightful owners.

**Chapter 23: In the Fortress**

"Aragorn!" called Balian. Where did the ranger go? Where could he have gone? "Legolas, where did you last see him?"

The elf looked around with a worried expression on his face. He examined the ground. "There are drag marks," he said. He, Balian and Gimli followed the marks to the edge of a cliff which looked down into a deep ravine with a fast rushing river swollen from the rains. A weak gurgling laugh sounded behind them and Legolas whipped around to see a dying orc with black blood trickling from the side of his mouth. Aragorn's dagger was buried in its belly.

Gimli put the edge of his axe to the foul creature's throat. "Tell me what happened and I will ease your passing," he growled.

"He's dead," sneered the orc, gasping for breath as blood filled his lungs, slowly drowning him. "He took a little tumble off the cliff."

Legolas grasped the orc's armour and hoisted him up. "You lie!" hissed the elf through gritted teeth. His voice was thick with pain and anger. The orc did not respond. His gurgling laughter died in its throat as he stopped breathing.

A glint of light from between the orc's fingers caught Legolas' eye. He plucked a shining jewel from the creature's hand. The elf frowned. The Evenstar. Arwen's gift to Aragorn. He rushed to the edge of the cliff and looked down. A warg's broken body lay on the rocks, its entrails leaking out of its exploded belly. Or Aragorn there was no sign. He heard someone come up behind him. It was Balian

The blacksmith felt hollow. First Boromir and now Aragorn. Was anyone going to survive this futile struggle against evil? He felt lost. They had lost their leader. Who was going to lead them now? Did it even matter anymore? Immediately he chastised himself for having thought such a thing. Of course it mattered. They had to save the people; they had to save Middle Earth. Aragorn would have wanted them to continue and finish that which he believed in.

Legolas wanted to say something to the youngest member of the Fellowship but his voice caught in his throat. His mouth refused to form words. His heart had been cast into a sea of darkness and despair. Aragorn, his dearest friend and comrade was gone. The elf looked down at the turbulent waters and then at the Evenstar in his hand. How was he going to break the news to Arwen? He had failed her; failed both her and Aragorn.

He heard the King giving orders to leave this killing field and make for safety. The man's voice sounded so far away. "Leave the dead," Théoden was saying. The elf whipped around. Leave Aragorn? How could the king even suggest such a thing?

Théoden put a hand on the elf's shoulder. The words of comfort which threatened to spill from his mouth were futile, he knew it. How could he comfort someone with centuries of experience who had just lost a dear friend, a friend who was a brother in every way but blood? There were no words to describe such sorrow and therefore words could not possibly sooth the pa8in. Instead, Théoden uttered a single imperative: "Come."

Legolas did not move. He remained at the edge, standing as still as a statue, mired in his grief. Balian looked up and swallowed hard, blinking back tears. Aragorn would not want them to fall into despair.

The men were already mounting. Guy sat astride Cynebald, untouched by the Fellowship's loss. He was, however, unwilling to ride with the Rohirrim alone. Balian's story had spread, making him immensely unpopular. At least he knew the Fellowship wouldn't allow anyone to kill him, although now that Aragorn was gone, he was beginning to wonder.

"Legolas," said Balian, trying very hard to keep his voice from trembling with emotion. He touched the elf's arm. "We should go. Aragorn would not want us to despair. He's in a better place now…"

"What do you know about it?" demanded the elf, turning on his friend. "Have you died before? Have you?"

"I…" said Balian.

"Have you ever lost a brother, a friend, a comrade?"

"I killed my brother in anger, Legolas," said the blacksmith. "And I've watched my friends die. I've seen my mentor's severed head tossed in a pile. I watched my father take his last breath. I held my stillborn child. I cut my wife down from the rafters. Aragorn was my friend too. I think I do know how you feel."

"I'm sorry," said Legolas, calming down. "I'm just…"

"I know," said Balian, wiping a sleeve across his eyes to dry them. "We have to be strong for Aragorn. We have an obligation to fulfil. He would want us to go and protect Rohan. We need you to lead us on."

Legolas bowed his head and said nothing. He mounted Arod and helped Gimli to climb up behind him. Balian swung himself into Louan's saddle, surprised to see Guy waiting for them. They kicked their horses into a fast canter to catch up with the others.

Balian observed Legolas closely during the rest of the journey. The elf was withdrawing into himself to hide his grief from the world. His face was a blank expressionless mask. It might as well have been made of stone. The blacksmith had heard in Lothlorien that although elves could not succumb to illness and old age, they could die of grief. He was afraid that it was happening to Legolas. Gimli feared the same thing for he gave the young man a comprehending look. They would try to work on the elf once they reach Helms Deep.

Guy was strangely silent. It appeared that he was shaken by their encounter with the wargs but in truth, his mind was working furiously. With the ranger dead and the elf consumed by grief, there were fewer people to watch Balian's back. The blacksmith himself still bore wounds from his misadventures and was not in the best condition. If Guy planned well enough, he could arrange Balian's demise and make it look like an accident. Maybe the blacksmith could 'fall' from the battlements while inspecting them. Unfortunately, the man had collapsed due to his wounds and fatigue and had fallen. Guy de Lusignan smiled at his fantasy. He would get rid of Godfrey's thrice-cursed bastard and have his revenge. How sweet it would be.

As soon as Balian caught sight of the fortress of Rohan, he became concerned. The fortress was semicircular in shape, making it vulnerable to attack from all directions except the back, which was shielded by rocky mountains. The placement of the fortress itself was not too bad as it was nestled at the vase of steep cliffs. However, this would make escaping difficult. He prayed it would not come to that.

They rode up the causeway of stone and up to the heavy wooden gates worn smooth by time. The gates opened with a groan. The sounds of hooves hitting stone resounded throughout the fortress as they rode in.

"Make way for the king!" cried the heralds. People scattered before the horses. Éowyn rushed out to greet her uncle. Her hair was loose and she was clothed in a rough woollen gown.

"So few," she said, searching the riders with her eyes. "So few of you have returned."

"Our people are safe," said Théoden, dismounting. An attendant took his horse. "We have paid for it with many lives."

Balian swung out of the saddle and looked around. Where were the catapults? The ballistae? How did the Rohirrim intend to defend their fortress without any of those things? He followed the King and his riders into the keep. Legolas had disappeared and Gimli was speaking to Éowyn, no doubt breaking their bad news to her. The dwarf was brave. Balian doubted that he had the courage to do such a thing.

He heard the sound of children crying his name behind him. He looked around. There were his young charges, eager and glad to see him. "We were scared," they told him as he assured them that he was not hurt. "Were the wargs very big?"

"Yes, they were big," he said. "But we killed them all." _And they killed a lot of us too._

"Sir Balian," said Éothain, "I want you to meet my mother."

"I am pleased to meet you, ma'am," said Balian, bowing. He turned to the boy. "Since when did you call me 'Sir Balian'?"

"Well," said Éothain, shifting from one foot to the other. "You are a knight, so I thought it would be appropriate." He looked up at Balian. "Can you teach me to be a knight?" he asked.

"Maybe later," said Balian. "I need to find my friends." Actually, he needed to find a certain elf before said elf did something stupid.

* * *

Legolas stood at the highest point of the fortress with a smile on his face. His keen eyesight tracked a lone rider across the plains.

"Legolas?" said Balian. "Legolas, what are you doing?" he climbed up to the elf. "Please don't tell me you were thinking of jumping."

"I was not," said the elf. The blacksmith was surprised to see that he was smiling.

"Hope is coming," said Legolas as if that explained everything. Balian was perplexed. He shook his head and left the elf to his musings. He had something to discuss with the King.

* * *

Théoden was holding a discussion with his ministers inside the keep when the blacksmith who became a knight interrupted him.

"My lord," said Balian. "We must look to the defences. This wizard will attack us here soon. We must be prepared."

"Sir Knight," said Théoden patiently "this is exactly what I am doing."

"Then where are your catapults and ballistae?" said the younger man. "How do you intend to defend your fortress without the proper equipment?"

"With archers and rocks and warriors of course," replied the king. "We Rohirrim are not like the Gondorians. We do not make siege engines."

"If you will excuse me, milord," said Gamling, clearing his throat. "Maybe he has a point. Maybe we should commission some to be made."

"Perhaps you are right, Gamling," said Théoden "but even so where would we find an engineer and the materials to make these things?"

"I am an engineer," said Balian. "I've made them before."

"Yes but that still does not solve the problem of materials. There is not enough wood or metal in this fortress. Maybe, Sir Knight, you should focus your energy on seeing to the defences with the things that we do have?"

* * *

Guy leaned against a wall and watched Balian teach the boys swordplay. The boys were using wooden sticks as swords. Balian demonstrated with his own blade.

"No, no," the blacksmith was saying. "Never take a low guard. You always strike from high." He showed them. "The Italians call it La Posta di Falcone; the guard of the hawk."

"What are Italians?" said a boy.

"Oh, never mind. Just strike from high." Balian checked the boys' postures, correcting them if they needed correcting.

Guy shook his head. That fool of a blacksmith was trying to make these farmers' sons into knights. He couldn't see it happening.

"Blacksmith!" he called. "How about we give them a little show?"

Balian looked at Guy in surprise. Was that arrogant bastard offering to help? No, he had a malicious gleam in his eyes. This was going to be just like that last time, in the streets and alleyways of Jerusalem.

"Well?" pressed Guy.

Balian nodded. To back down would be to show weakness. He couldn't do that.

Blade clashed against blade. This wasn't just a show. It was a struggle for life, for dignity. Balian threw Guy against the wall. Guy's blade glanced against the blacksmith's arm and bounced off the elven chainmail. The former king swiped wildly, almost decapitating the blacksmith if he had not leapt out of the way in time. A crowd had gathered to watch. Their eyes were wide with awe. Some men even betted on who would be the first to draw blood.

"Stop this madness!" cried the king who was also watching. "The enemy marches upon our borders and you two are trying to kill each other!"

Balian bowed his head in shame. He had given in to his pride when he should have ignored it.

"We were just showing the young ones the proper way to use a sword," said Guy.

"Well, I think you have shown them quite enough," said Théoden. "Come Sir Knight, I would discuss the defences with you."

Balian sheathed his sword and followed the King. "I'm not done with you yet, Perfect Knight," he heard Guy say as he passed by. The ominous words made him want to shiver. He fought the urge to do so. He would not let Guy win.

Théoden led Balian into the hall where maps and plans of the fortress were strewn about all over the tables. Balian looked at them intensely. The only thing that needed reinforcing was the gates, as the entire fortress was made of rock. Unless, of course, the enemy had catapult, ballistae and other siege engines. Then things would be slightly different.

"How many archers do we have?" he asked Théoden.

"Not enough," replied the King.

Balian and Théoden were discussing where to place the archers when there came a shout from below. Moments later, Aragorn burst in, battered, tired and wet, but otherwise unharmed.

The blacksmith rushed towards his friend, speechless. He had so many questions but Aragorn did not seem to be in the mood for storytelling. "A great host of Uruk Hai is making their way here," said the ranger. "I passed them."

"A great host, you say?" said Théoden.

"All Isengard has been emptied," said Aragorn.

"How many?"

"Ten thousand strong at least."

Théoden whipped around in shock. "Ten thousand?" he whispered.

"They will be here by nightfall," said Aragorn.

"How many do we have?" asked Balian. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Three hundred at the most," said Gamling.

"I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms," said Théoden. "Get the women and children into the caves." He walked out of the keep, with Aragorn, Balian, Gamling, Gimli and Legolas behind him. They went out to the outer wall and surveyed it. Théoden seemed satisfied by its condition. "They will break like water upon the rocks," said the King. "Saruman's hordes will pillage and burn, we've seen it before. Crops can be resown. Homes, rebuilt. Within these walls, we will outlast them."

"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops and villages," said Aragorn. "They are here to destroy its people, down to the last child."

"What would you have me do?" demanded Théoden, grasping Aragorn's arm tightly. "Look at my men. Their courage hangs by a thread. If this is to be our end, then I would make it such an end as to be worthy of remembrance."

"Send out riders, milord," said Aragorn. "You must call for aid."

"And who will come?" said Théoden. "Elves? Dwarves? We are not so lucky in our friends as you, Master Aragorn."

"Gondor will answer," said Aragorn.

"Gondor? Where was Gondor when the Westfold fell? Where was Gondor when our enemies closed in around us? Where was Gond…" The King trailed off angrily. He had no wish to list his grievances against Gondor. "No, my Lord Aragorn. We are alone."With that, Théoden stormed off, Gamling behind him.

"We must prepare," said Legolas. "Aragorn, get some rest. You look like you just walked out from Mandos' Halls."

"No, I'm fine," said the ranger. "We'll post archers along these walls. That way, we can shoot those who attempt to come up the causeway to ram the gates."

"Aragorn, you must rest," said Legolas as Aragorn descended into the keep again. "You're no use to us half alive."

"He's right, you know, lad," said Gimli. Balian just shook his head. Aragorn was just as bad as his patients.

'You reap what you sow,' he thought.

"Aragorn!" came a woman's voice. They turned around to see Éowyn running towards them. She looked flustered. "I am to be sent with the women and children into the caves," she said, almost growling with frustration.

"That is an honourable charge," said Aragorn.

"To mind the children! To find food and bedding when the men return! What honour and renown is there in that?"

"My lady," said Aragorn patiently "There comes a time when there is honour without renown."

"Let me stand at your side."

"It is not in my power to command it." The ranger turned to leave.

"You do not command the others to stay!" cried Éowyn. "They stand beside you because they would not be parted from you…because they love you!"

Balian's eyes widened in shock. Was Éowyn in love with Aragorn?

"I'm sorry," said Éowyn, in softer tones. She fled into the caves.

"Let's go to the armoury," said Gimli, breaking the tension. "We should arm ourselves."

Aragorn nodded but did not speak. The four of them made their way to the armoury, where riders were handing out weapons to the would-be defenders of Helms Deep. Balian's eyes swept over the men. Most of them probably hadn't touched a weapon before in their lives. Aragorn was of the same opinion.

"Farmers, farriers, stable boys," said the ranger. "These are no soldiers. Not including you of course, Balian."

The blacksmith nodded.

"Most have seen too many winters," said Gimli.

"Or too few," said Legolas. "Look at them. They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes."

The milling people stopped and turned to look at the elf as if demanding an explanation.

Legolas began to speak in elvish impatiently. Aragorn replied but the elf refused to be placated. The volume of his voice increased and he almost spat out the last words.

"Then I shall die as one of them!" shouted Aragorn. Now both Balian and Gimli understood, at least, they were almost certain that they did. The ranger left in anger. Legolas made to follow him but Gimli held him back.

"Let him go, lad," said the dwarf. "Let him be."

Balian turned to look at his two friends, then went after Aragorn. He found the ranger outside, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

"Maybe Legolas is right," said the blacksmith. "It is quite impossible."

"How could you say that?" demanded Aragorn. "You've defended Jerusalem with worse odds. You survived. The people survived. Why is this any different?"

"Last time, I had siege engines," said Balian. "The Rohirrim don't have a single catapult. And Saladin was not bent on destroying us or the city. It is very different."

"I will not give up hope, Balian. Nor should you."

Balian was left there standing alone. The ranger was right. He could not give up. How many people almost gave up before the siege of Jerusalem? Many, too many to count. Yet he had not. He did not know what he could do but he was certain that like last time, he could make a difference. Encouraged, he went back to the armoury. The world of men will not fall.

* * *

**A/N:** Whoopee! The siege of Helms Deep next! I'm more than halfway through this story; I can't believe it! Anyway, please review! I write faster when I get reviews. 


	24. The First Wave

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them to their rightful owners.

**Chapter 24: The First Wave**

Thunder clashed, like the sound of shield against shield. Lightning exploded in the sky, foreshadowing a great storm. Balian glanced up. The clouds had rallied. It was going to rain soon.

"Sir Balian!" he heard someone call. It was Éothain. The boy was dressed in armour that was too big for him and holding a sword awkwardly. The other boys were in the same condition. The looked absolutely terrified, although they tried to put on brave faces.

"Are you ready for this?" asked Balian. Éothain nodded, although some of the others looked uncertain.

"Sir," said one of Éothain's companions. "How can we win?" Balian realised that he was surrounded by a sea of frightened boys who were looking to him for answers. 'How can they win if they feel as if they can't?' he thought.

"We have no knights or riders," continued the boy.

"Truly?" said Balian, looking at each and every one of them. Then he turned to Éothain. "You said you wanted to be a knight. Do you still want to be?"

The Rohirrim boy nodded.

"Kneel!" said Balian. "If you want to be a knight, kneel! On your knees!"

The boys knelt, gazing up at this man with awe and expectation.

Balian looked down upon them, feeling a sense of nostalgia wash over him. "Be without fear in the face of your enemies," he began. "Be brave and upright that God may love thee. Speak the truth always, even if it leads to your death. Safeguard the helpless. That is your oath…"

* * *

Gamling watched the strange scene unfold before him. The boys seemed to change even as the foreigner spoke. Their faces lit up with hope. In one moment, they had become defenders of Rohan, not just mere farm boys.

"Rise a knight!" Balian shouted. "Rise a knight!" The boys got onto their feet. Éothain was rubbing his face where the man had slapped him, but his eyes were shining. Even the grown men, who had not partaken in the ceremony, seemed encouraged by the blacksmith's words. The entire fortress was strangely quiet, and Balian suddenly realised that they had all been listening. This time, he did not mind being at the centre of attention, not if he could help them. They looked at him with new respect, stepping to the side as he passed and dipping their heads in acknowledgement. The men and boys went back to their work, preparing for the forthcoming battle with more fervour than before.

Legolas saw his friend from the highest ramparts of the fortress. The words reverberated in his mind. He knew that Balian had done this once before, but he never realized how amazing it was to see it for himself. With a few words, the blacksmith seemed to have changed the entire atmosphere. The elf felt his despair wane. Yes, there was still hope while men like Aragorn and Balian were here. Aragorn. He would have to find that stubborn ranger who seemed to have gained a knack for disappearing. He needed to tell him that he was right.

* * *

"Sir Knight!" called Théoden, wishing he had more men like the foreign blacksmith, or just more men.

The younger man turned. "My lord?" he said.

"I would like you to be in charge of the defenders above the gate."

"As you wish."

"And…before I forget, the mass knighting was spectacular. I thank you for it. You have raised the men's morale."

"It is my duty."

Théoden clapped the young man on the shoulder then left to see the other parts of the fortress. Balian headed for the armoury where his friends were probably hiding. He had work to do and he needed their help.

* * *

Guy heard about Balian's second mass knighting. Let the fool think that he was making a difference. This was the perfect chance to get rid of him. In the chaos of the battle, everyone would be occupied. No one was going to notice that a man had fallen off the wall or had been cut down by a sword which did not belong to an orc. He pulled on the chainmail that he had been allotted, wistfully remembering the beautiful surcoat and armour that he had owned when was King. Now he was here, about to fight like a common soldier for a cause that was not his own.

He fingered his sword. At least he still had this. God forbid that he should fight with one of those awkward and ugly lengths of crude metal that the Rohirrim called blades.

"Hey you!" said one of the Riders. Guy bit back an acidic retort. It would only make him more unpopular and they despised him enough.

"Yes?" he said coolly.

"Do you know how to use a bow?"

"Do I look like an imbecile?"

"Good." The man thrust a bow and a quiver of arrows into his arms. It seemed that the former king of Jerusalem was going to be posted along the wall with the other peasant archers. He fumed with anger. The blacksmith was probably in charge of a contingent of soldiers. What did they see in him anyway? This reinforced Guy's opinion that Balian had to be eliminated, no matter what the cost.

* * *

Gimli grunted in frustration as he struggled to pull the armour on. It was too tight, but he needed armour. He cursed in dwarvish, raising some eyebrows. The dwarf was panting as he struggled with the garment. Was it really worth all this trouble? Probably not. It would probably strangle him anyway. Maybe it would be best not to put it on. Besides, how could a dwarf fight in such constricting armour? He tried to pull it off himself but his arms were pinned to his sides. He could hardly breathe, much less move. He realised with dismay that he was stuck.

"Err, Gimli?" said a familiar voice. The dwarf groaned. Why did one of his friends have to see him like this? It wasn't Aragorn. The voice was too young. He hoped to Aulë that it was not the pointy-eared-elvish-princeling. He would never hear the end of it.

"Do you need some help?" No, that definitely was not Legolas. Legolas would probably be laughing his pretty head off by now.

"Can you get this stupid shirt off me, lad?" he said. There was no answer. He felt tugging and it almost lifted him off the ground.

"You have it mostly on anyway," panted Balian. "Maybe it would be easier to put it on and see what can be done about the length." The blacksmith tugged the other way and after much puffing and pulling, Gimli managed to fit his arms through the sleeves.

Balian quickly turned a snort of laughter into a not-so-discreet cough. The dwarf looked comical. The mail shirt looked like a sort of dress on him. It brushed the ground and the sleeves were too long as well. Gimli looked decidedly red, probably from all the effort he put into trying to pull the shirt on. It was strained across the dwarf's broad chest. The blacksmith wondered how his friend could still breathe.

"Right, lad," grumbled Gimli. He didn't seem to find the situation so amusing. "What are we going to do about this length problem?"

"Maybe you could tuck it up? Or you could find something to trim off the bottom. Bolt clippers maybe?" Now that the dwarf was mostly out of trouble, Balian really needed to find Aragorn and Legolas to discuss the defences. He had no idea how to defend a fortress without the right weapons. It was all very well to throw rocks down upon the enemy but that would mean the enemy had to be very close. He preferred to fight them while they were still some distance from the fortress.

"Oi, lad! Come back!" shouted Gimli. "You're the blacksmith! You fix it for me!"

Balian was about to go into one of the side rooms then stopped. Both Legolas and Aragorn were inside, speaking softly in elvish. Any earlier animosity had evaporated and the two were clasping each others' shoulders. He did not want to disturb them. Gimli had no such qualms. He waddled in, lifting the hem of the chainmail. "If I had time I'd get this adjusted," he said, looking pointedly at the doorway where Balian was standing, then let the hem drop. It fell to the stone floor with a metallic clank.

The elf and the ranger looked at the dwarf with amusement. Gimli opted to complain about the width rather than the length. Any complaint about the length would probably trigger a bout of teasing from his elven friend. "It's a little tight across the chest," he said. Legolas and Aragorn raised their eyebrows. The length seemed more of a problem, as far as they were concerned. Legolas opened his mouth to say something but he stopped, cocking his head. The dwarf's overlong mail shirt was forgotten. Balian listened. A horn. Were the orcs here already?

"That is no orc horn!" said the elf, and he rushed outside. Aragorn and Balian followed him, leaving Gimli alone to solve the problem of the chainmail.

The sight which greeted the three friends lightened their hearts immensely. An army of elves from Lothlorien had arrived, led by Haldir. He was talking to Théoden who seemed to shocked to say anything. Balian figured that these men had probably never seen an elf until Legolas came to Rohan and now, there were hundreds of these immortals. They were certainly an amazing sight. The soldiers were very orderly and seemed to move as one.

"Mae Govannen, mellon-nin," said Aragorn. _Well met, my friend. _He rushed up to Haldir and embraced him like a long lost brother. Haldir seemed reluctant to return the embrace but finally relented and allowed his arms to close around Aragorn. The ranger released the elven captain. "You are _most_ welcome," he said.

Legolas ran forwards to greet the elf as well, clasping his shoulder warmly as elven warriors did when they greeted each other. Then it was Balian's turn. It felt awkward, greeting someone he hardly knew in front of so many people. "I'm glad you've come," he said at last. "It's very generous of you."

"We are proud to fight alongside men once more," said Haldir.

'Does that mean it's happened before?' wondered Balian. He had no time to ask as the soldiers took their positions.

Thunder clashed again, and the rain pelted down, soaking them in mere moments. Water dripped down from the end of Balian's nose. His hair was plastered to his head. In the distance they could see the light from the torches of the marching orcs. The boys were silent; watching the approaching army that may be Rohan's approaching doom. None of them showed their fear and Balian felt proud of them. Then he grieved. Many of these boys might not survive this. They had no experience in war.

Nearby, Aragorn was instructing the elven troops. Legolas and Gimli were with them. Balian wondered how Gimli felt about being placed with the elves. They were all good archers which eased Balian's anxiousness a little. At least now they had more long range weapons. He missed his ballistae and catapults. Not to mention the oil which burnt fiercely when lit. The Rohirrim didn't have any of those things.

The orcs halted in front of the fortress. Balian could make out their long pikes in the dim light. And what was that? He peered carefully into their midst. Oh God help him! The Uruk Hai had ballistae!

* * *

Éowyn heard the approaching footsteps of Saruman's horde. The ground trembled as if it loathed the feel of their foul feet upon its surface. The women and children sat silently in the dark, too frightened to talk, or to do anything for that matter. She wondered what would be worse, knowing that the men she cared about were dead or not knowing anything at all. She opted for the latter.

She could imagine Lord Aragorn standing proudly on the battlements, ordering the men to stand firm. She would give anything to stand beside him and be one of the soldiers that he commanded.

'His friends will look after him,' she told herself firmly, but she doubted even her own words. His friends would be occupied with their own adversaries. There would be no one to protect Aragorn.

'Aragorn doesn't need protecting,' she scolded herself. 'He is a good warrior.' Despite her own reassurances, she somehow thought that it would be safer if she was with him.

* * *

The two armies stood facing each other, not doing anything. Neither wanted to make the first move. Then an arrow flew down from the battlements, released by an old man with one eye. It hit an Uruk Hai in the eye, felling the creature. The orcs looked at their fallen companion, seemingly in shock. Then they roared in anger and surged forwards like a wave of spears and armour. The battle of Helms Deep had begun.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, the battle at last. I had hoped to go onto the battle itself this chapter but there wasn't enough time to do it justice. We'll just have to wait for the next chapter. There will hopefully be more about Guy and how he copes. Sorry about the late update. Our internet got disconnected because we were trying to change telephone companies. Stupid Telecom New Zealand. We even paid for the internet connection until next month! Alright, enough moaning from me. You probably didn't want to know anyway. Please leave your opinion! I'm open to suggestions by the way. I might not use the idea but I consider every suggestion and bit of advice that comes my way ;) 


	25. The Battle for the Keep

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them to their rightful owners.

**Chapter 25: The Battle for the Keep**

Wave upon wave of orcs surged forwards, their wet bodies glistening in the flickering torchlight from the fortress. Aragorn gave instructions, and the elves fired at the orcs. Arrows fell down on them like the rain, striking them at the weak points of their armour and felling many. Not to be outdone, the men released a volley of their own.

Balian could sense the men's nervousness. The tension was so thick he could almost slice through it. The boys clutched their chunks of rock, ready to throw them down upon their enemy. He held up a hand to stop them. The orcs were out of range.

The minions of Isengard retaliated, shooting crossbow bolts up at the defenders. Bodies tumbled from the wall to smash upon the hard rocky ground below or to be impaled by pikes. A force using the turtle formation with shields protecting them on all sides and the top slowly and steadily made their way up the causeway towards the gate. Each shield bore a crudely drawn shape, but it was not so hard to tell that it was the White Hand which was trying to strike down Rohan.

"Now!" shouted Balian and his contingent threw their rocks and other missiles down upon the orcs. Most of them bounced off the shields but some hit the orcs below. It seemed that every orc they felled was replaced by another more determined to get at the gate with their battering ram.

Ladders were being propped up against the wall, each with an orc perched at the top. Balian could not help but be impressed. Whatever these orcs were, incompetent was not a word that he would use to describe them. The blacksmith drew his sword, and around him, the others did the same. The orcs leapt onto the wall and the men promptly engaged them in battle. As soon as Balian parried the first blow that was meant for him, he immediately knew that these orcs were not like the others that he had fought. To compare these ones to those was like comparing the light of the sun to that of the moon. His arm shook from the force of the impact. The orc was strong; too strong. The only advantage that the blacksmith had was speed and agility. He ducked the next blow and struck the creature's leg, amputating it just below the knee. Black blood spurted onto his hands and the orc roared in pain as it toppled over. Amidst the din, he heard Gimli's battle cry of something which sounded like 'Baruk Khazad!'. Without slowing down, he whirled around to face yet another assailant. Unlike his previous adversary, this one wore armour. The Sword of Ibelin struck it with a loud clang and Balian had to drop to the ground and roll to avoid being cleaved into two. He thrust up with his blade and plunged it into the orc's neck. The blacksmith scrambled to his feet and pulled his sword out of the dead orc.

His inexperienced boys were fighting three of the foul creatures and they were losing. Behind him, Gimli was harvesting orc heads, landing blows left and right. He shouted numbers gleefully while nearby, Legolas was also counting.

'They have made a game of it,' thought Balian. It was too serious to be a game. He blocked a downward stroke that would have killed Éothain then trapped his adversary's blade with his sword's guard. He swung the blade upwards and cut the orc's throat.

Éothain had already engaged himself in yet another fight, this time with help from his companions. He was determined to prove that he was worthy of his knighthood.

* * *

Éowyn could hear the din of the raging battle above them. The domed roof of the caves amplified the sounds. It seemed as if their whole world was tumbling down around them. Mothers clutched their frightened children to their bosoms, too terrified themselves to offer them any words of comfort. The Shieldmaiden of Rohan ran her thumb gently along her blade of blue steel. She itched to see it covered in the black blood of the orcs who had taken both her father and her cousin.

She wondered what was happening outside the caves. Aragorn no doubt would have assumed the role of a commander of some sort. His friends would be fighting beside him cleaving orc heads as they would ears of wheat. More than anything, she wished she was out there with them. Why weren't women allowed to fight? Was she not as capable as any of the men? Théodred had said that she was better than most. He ought to have known and her cousin had not been a man who would tell her a lie in order to placate her. Valar damn it! Why was she born a woman, a member of the weaker sex?

Éowyn took up her sword. The hilt felt comfortable in her hands. She gave it a few experimenting swings, imagining that it was cutting through orc flesh.

* * *

Shooting arrows for an extended period was more tiring than Guy had thought that it would be. His shoulders and arm muscles ached and his quiver had almost be emptied. Soon he would be fighting with his blade and he had no desire to face one of those demons from hell. He put his last arrow to the string… then he saw something that he hated more than hell itself. He changed his mind and aimed at Balian who was fighting with one of those things nearby with his back to Guy.

Guy's hand shook with anticipation and excitement. At last, the day had come! Warmth coursed through his body and his heart hammered like the drumbeats of victory. He released the arrow. It flew … and grazed Balian's thigh. Guy cursed then cheered up again as the blacksmith faltered. That moment's distraction was all the orc needed. It struck Balian's ribs with its club, sending the man falling backwards. Balian landed hard on his back, wheezing in pain, his breath driven from his lungs. His chest throbbed.

'Probably broken,' he thought, grateful for the armour that Lady Galadriel had given him. Somehow he felt that she knew he would need it. He knocked aside a blow that would have impaled him then rolled away, ignoring the fire in his chest. The orc's sword connected with the stone, creating sparks. Just as the orc charged at the wounded blacksmith, an elven arrow suddenly sprouted from its eye and pierced its brain. Balian turned and nodded his thanks to his rescuer. Legolas saluted him then turned back to the next oncoming wave of orcs.

The former king of Jerusalem saw this out of t he corner of his eye as he fought of the ferocious onslaught of one of the foul creatures. Damn the elf to Hell, and may he burn for eternity! Why did he have to ruin everything? If not for him, Balian would have been long dead, with no evidence to suggest that Guy had any hand in his demise.

Balian clambered to his feet, gasping. Each breath hurt. He doubted that he was of much use now.

'Come on!' he told himself. 'Godfrey once fought two days with an arrow through his testicle, so why can't you fight with a couple of broken ribs?'

'Godfrey wasn't fighting with demons from hell,' said another part of his mind.

'Shut up,' he told it. He was about to charge back into the chaos when he heard a large explosion. Moments later, he was being blasted backwards. Rocks and bits of debris hailed down around him and he tried to shield his head with his arms. He heard someone calling his name desperately then he was being shaken. Balian looked up to see a terrified Éothain. "They've blown a hole in the wall," said the boy fearfully. "Are you alright, sir?"

"I'm fine," he said, clambering to his feet. "They'll be needing my help." He raced off to where the wall had been breached, not looking back to see if the boy was following him. Personally, he hoped that the boy was not following. It was too dangerous for a child. He arrived just in time to see Gimli jump off the wall into a group of orcs who were about to tear Aragorn to pieces. The dwarf did not seem to care that the orcs were holding pikes that were pointing upwards. Gimli must have had the blessings of all the deities in Middle Earth for he was not impaled. He landed in the water at the base and started hacking in every direction. Balian found a flight of steps and ran down to help his friend.

Gimli had been overwhelmed and if he did not get help soon, he would drown. Balian threw himself at the orcs, just as Aragorn gave the elves a command. Arrows flew towards them and hit the Uruk Hai. Balian reached into the water and pulled the sputtering dwarf up. They looked up just in time to see Legolas sliding down the steps while standing on an orc shield and shooting at the same time. He had used up the last of the arrows and now he brandished his knives. Aragorn had joined in the fight. The four friends hacked and slashed, trying to stop the orcs from entering the fortress, to no avail. There were too many of them.

"Fall back!" they heard Théoden shout. Gimli took no heed of the command and Legolas and Balian had to drag him away by the arms, kicking and struggling.

"What are you stopping for?!" roared the infuriated dwarf. Balian was surprised. Could Gimli not see the futility?

"Stop it, Gimli!" said Legolas. "If we don't go in we'll all be killed!"

Gimli looked up at the elf. "Alright, then, elf. Put me down! I can walk!"

"You promise you won't go the other way?"

"I promise!"

Balian and Legolas released Gimli and they rush inside the keep to find Théoden trying to reinforce the gate. "Hold them!" the king was shouting. "Stand firm!" The orcs had made a hole in the wood and the men were busy trying to fend them off as well as mend the gate. The blacksmith immediately went to help the men with the timbers, while Aragorn pushed the orcs' weapons back so that the men could place their timbers.

"Hold them!" repeated Théoden.

"How long do you need?" said Aragorn.

"As long as you can give me," said the king.

"Come, Gimli!" said Aragorn. The two of them disappeared. Balian wished he could follow them but he could not abandon the men. They needed him here; he had done this before and he knew what to do.

Moments later, he could see Aragorn and Gimli appear miraculously in front of the gate on the causeway, sending orcs falling down the sides. 'Where did they come from?' he wondered.

"Up a bit!" he said out loud, instructing the men where to put the wood. "We need another one over here!"

Bit by bit, the hole in the gate was blocked in until a tiny space was left. "Aragorn!" Théoden shouted through said space. "Get out of there!"

The ranger started for the gate, uncertain of how a man and a dwarf could fit through such a small gap. He didn't have to think for long. An orc grabbed them both by the neck and proceeded to strangle them. The king ordered the last timber to be placed, much to Balian's dismay.

"You're just going to leave them out there?" he demanded angrily. "They may have just saved your nation and is this how you repay them?"

"Much must be sacrificed in war," said Théoden. "You of all people should know that, Sir Knight."

Balian stormed away to find a way to save his friends. The king's words irked him; Théoden was right and he knew it. Only his conscience found it difficult to accept. He went out to the battlements above the gate and looked down at his friends. The blacksmith hated his helplessness.

The Uruks were launching ballistae at them, using the large missiles as grapple hooks to pull up ladders that were covered in orcs. Balian felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Legolas. "We've got to do something," said the elf. He pulled an arrow from his quiver —somehow he had managed to refill it— then took aim. His arrow flew true and severed one of the ropes pulling the ladders up. The ladder fell backwards and crushed its load of orcs. Legolas took the rope. "Aragorn!" he shouted, throwing the rope down to them.

The ranger caught hold of the rope with one arm and Gimli with the other. Legolas hauled them up while Balian fended off any orc that tried to attack the elf while he was preoccupied.

"That was stupid," said Balian, clapping Aragorn on the shoulder. "Next time, take me with you."

"Agreed," said Aragorn. "Now inside the hall. We can't hold them here for much longer."

"Where's Haldir?" said Legolas suddenly.

Aragorn was silent and the elf understood. He sent a swift prayer for Haldir's soul. They would mourn him later, when they had the luxury of time.

* * *

Guy rushed inside the hall, panting. He was going to die. There was no way that anyone would survive this, not unless there was divine intervention. Guy prayed to God for help. He wasn't ready to meet his maker yet! Goddamnit! He was not ready to die!

Aragorn, Balian, Gimli and Legolas rushed inside. They were the last. The doors were closed and the remaining men and elf started to barricade the entrance.

"Come on, Lusignan!" shouted Balian. "Don't just stand there and wait for death!"

"The fortress is taken," said Théoden in despair. "It is over."

"You said the fortress would never fall while your men defended it!" shouted Aragorn, releasing the table that he and Legolas had been carrying over to the doors. "They still defend it! They have died defending it!"

"The women and children…" said Balian. It didn't matter if he died but he could not let those innocents be harmed.

"Is there no way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" demanded Aragorn. He got no answer.

"Is there no other way?" he repeated.

"There is one way," said Gamling hesitatingly at last. Legolas rushed to the remaining table and with Guy's help dragged it over against the door. "It leads into the mountains," continued the guardsman "but they won't get far. The Uruk Hai are too many."

"Send word to the women and children to get out of the caves, and barricade the entrance!" said Aragorn.

"Does it matter?" said Théoden. His voice was heavy, laden with hopelessness. "There has been so much death; too much. What can men do against such hate?"

"The least you can do is try," said Balian. Didn't Théoden care? They were his people! How could he give up like that? Théoden threw him a dispirited glare. He was too tired to argue with the young man.

"Ride out with me," said Aragorn. "Ride out and meet them!"

Light returned to Théoden's eyes. He remembered his own words. '_If this is to be our end,'_ he had said _'Then I would make it such an end as to be worthy of remembrance.'_

"For death and glory," he breathed.

"For Rohan," said Aragorn. "For your people."

"The sun is rising," said Gimli.

'What is so significant about that?' thought Balian. 'The sun will rise whether we succeed or not.'

"The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep for one last time!" declared Théoden.

"Yes!" cried Gimli and he sped off, no doubt to sound the horn. Moments later, the horn blast shook the fortress.

"Now for wrath, and for ruin, and a red dawn!" cried Théoden, putting on his plumed helmet and mounting. The others followed the king's example, with naked blades in their hands. The door gave way and fell to the ground with a loud crash, sending dust flying upwards.

"Forth Eorlingas!" shouted the king and he kicked his horse forward, cutting his way through the ranks of orcs. To be honest, more orcs were trampled to death than cut down by swords but at that moment, the remaining defenders of Helms Deep were not particular as to who actually killed the orcs as long as the orcs were killed. They rode down the causeway, spilling orcs off the sides.

In the east, the golden rays of the morning sun reached across the sky. In front of the sunrise was a lone rider on a white horse.

"Gandalf!" breathed Aragorn. Another rider soon joined the wizard, then a whole contingent of riders.

"To the king!" shouted Éomer. The riders charged down the slope just as the sun emerged, blinding the orcs.

"Reinforcements!" cried Guy. "Praise be to God!" He started hacking at the orcs with more fervour than before. Killing orcs was not so different from killing infidels. It was killing the enemies of God either way and it might just secure him a place in heaven, or at least keep him out of Hell. He forgot about Balian for a while as he slashed at the monsters, feeling as if he was a saint fighting the minions of Satan.

To Guy's left, Balian cleaved an orc head in two. The hope had renewed his strength. He forgot about his injuries.

The Uruk Hai, which had been so feared, were driven away into a forest which had not existed the day before. 'What in God's name?' wondered Balian. Forests did not grow in the span of one day, not even in Middle Earth, at least, he thought not.

"Stay away from the trees!" shouted Éomer. Legolas looked on with awe and reverence as the forest began to move. The screams of dying orcs could be heard.

"Mary mother of God!" breathed Guy. He was never going to look at trees the same way ever again. In fact, it would be best if he never saw another tree in his life. Who knew whether it could be one of these murderous things? Wait. Was it possible to lure Balian into one such forest? Maybe, if the blacksmith was drugged. Then again, his friends would never let that happen. The elf knew too much about trees anyway.

"That was the most magnificent thing I have ever seen," said Legolas with an intoxicated look on his face. Gimli grimaced.

"I am not going to go into another forest again, ever," he grumbled. Balian felt inclined to agree. Getting crushed or impaled by a branch was not a desirable death.

"Gimli," said Legolas cheerfully. "I believe we have a score to settle."

"What score?" said Balian.

"Well, the elf here bet that he could kill more orcs than me," said Gimli. "I felt disinclined to agree."

"What did you bet?" said Balian, not sure whether he wanted to know or not.

"Let's just say that the elf won't be pleased if he loses," said the grinning dwarf.

"Gimli, it's not very nice…" began Balian.

"Sir Balian!" cried Éothain. He was followed by more children, Freda among them.

"Thank goodness you're alright!" said Balian. One of the girls ran to him and hugged his leg.

"I was scared," she said, looking up at him with large round eyes. "But I was bwave and I didn't cwy."

"I'm sure you were very brave, little one," said Balian, bending down to ruffle her hair.

"Well, Balian, Childminder of Rohan," said Legolas with a grin. "We'll leave you to your charges. Gimli and I have some counting to do."

Balian had forgotten all about that nickname, until now. All of a sudden, he was very eager for Legolas to lose his bet.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, that was more difficult than I thought it would be, mainly because I know next to nothing about fighting techniques. Ah well, I hope you enjoy it anyway. I stayed up until the early morning to finish it. Let me know what you think! 


	26. A Score to Settle

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer:** I wish I owned Balian and the rest of them, but I don't. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them.

**Chapter 26: A Score to Settle**

Balian watched as Legolas and Gimli debated about the number of orcs that they had killed. They couldn't seem to decide whether it was a draw or whether Legolas had lost. The man glanced down at the children who seemed to have attached themselves to him. Éothain's face was grave ('Probably thinking about the battle and his dead companions,' thought Balian) but he brightened up when he saw the mischievous grin on the blacksmith's face.

"What is it, Sir Balian?" he asked eagerly. Surely the man had come up with something brilliant.

"My friends seem to be having some trouble over there," replied Balian, indicating the elf and dwarf who were arguing whether Legolas' shooting of a twitching orc constituted as a kill. "Shall we help them out?"

"Umm…" said Éothain. The argument was slightly too heated for his liking and he was afraid of the elf and the dwarf. "Are you sure that it's a good idea?"

"Absolutely," said Balian. "Why wouldn't it be?"

The boy glanced up at him worriedly. Clearly the blacksmith was too tired. He was not thinking clearly. Before Éothain could answer though, a shout caught Balian's attention. Éowyn was running towards them, jumping over orc corpses with her skirts in her hand. Aragorn and Éomer were following behind. She flung himself at Balian and hugged him hard. "Thank goodness you're alive!" she cried. Her embrace aggravated his ribs. He gasped and immediately she released him.

"You're hurt," she said, looking him up and down and seeing his thigh where an arrow had grazed him.

"It's nothing," he said.

"That's what all men say," she said "even when it is something." She took his arm. "Come. You're going to the infirmary."

"What are you doing with the poor man, 'Wyn?" said Éomer, coming up to them.

"He's hurt," said Éowyn. She glared at him murderously as if it was entirely his fault that she had to convince the stubborn blacksmith to go to the infirmary.

Éomer put up his hands in defence and took a step backwards as his sister advanced on him menacingly. "I didn't know he was on our side, I swear," said Éomer. "I've already apologized and he's accepted my apology. Why don't you ask him before you kill me?"

"That's right," said Balian hurriedly. If looks could kill then Éomer would have been reduced to ashes long ago. "We're friends, Éowyn."

"Couldn't you have questioned him before you started torturing him?" she said testily to her brother, pointedly ignoring the man who was the subject of their conversation. Aragorn decided to intervene before Éowyn lost her temper completely.

"It was all a terrible misunderstanding, milady," he said "and it has been forgiven." He turned to Balian. "Now _you _are going to go to the infirmary _without a word_."

"But Aragorn, I'm…"

"Balian. Infirmary. Now."

"Tend to the others first," insisted Balian. "I can wait. It's nothing; truly it is…" His friend glared at him. "Fine; I'll go to the infirmary but you look worse so you'll have to come too."

"Balian," said Aragorn impatiently. "I am a healer and I think I know whether or not I need tending to."

"Actually," said Gandalf, coming up from behind them. "I think you should both go to the infirmary. Éomer and Éowyn will take you there, won't they?" He looked at the siblings meaningfully.

"Of course," said Éomer, bodily steering Balian towards the infirmary before he could protest. Aragorn followed sulkily, led by Éowyn. Balian's young charges trailed them.

The blacksmith turned back to glance at Gandalf who was chuckling and shaking his head. "Gandalf," he said. "You might want to keep an eye on Legolas and Gimli. They're having an argument and I think they need help to reach a conclusion."

"Fine," said Gandalf. "I'll take them to the infirmary and you can be the judge."

Moments later, Balian found himself seated on a pallet and struggling to take off his chainmail. His sides had gone stiff and he found it extremely difficult to lift his arms. Guy sauntered in, looking smug.

"Having trouble, _blacksmith_?" he gloated.

"Go to hell, Lusignan," growled Balian. He was too tired to think of a clever comeback.

"You wound me," declared Guy in a dramatic mocking manner. "But I see you are wounded worse."

"At least he has something to prove that he fought bravely and did not cower in the background like a beaten dog," said Éowyn coldly, coming over with a pile of bandages.

"Now listen here, wench…" Guy began. His voice failed him as he caught sight of Éomer's blazing eyes.

"Leave us," said Éowyn. Guy hesitated.

"You heard my sister," said Éomer. "Scram."

Guy fled, and Balian gave a relieved smile.

"How can you put up with him?" said Éomer. "I've met him twice, briefly, and I already want to strangle him.

"Guy has that affect on people," said Balian as Éowyn divested him of his armour. "I think his sole purpose in life is to test my patience." His undershirt's front was dotted with blood. She removed that too. A large purple bruise bloomed on his chest and his skin was scored by the rings of his mail shirt, even through cloth. He winced as Aragorn came over to probe at his ribs.

"You call that nothing?" said Éowyn flatly.

"I'm still alive, milady," said Balian. "That has to count for something."

"Men!" said Éowyn in exasperation, shaking her head.

Balian's charges peered at him from behind the adults. No one had noticed them, until now.

"Does it hurt very much?" asked Freda as Aragorn started to bind Balian's ribcage. The blacksmith was saved from lying when the ranger pulled on the bandage to tighten it, making him grunt in pain.

"Of course it hurts, silly," said Éothain.

"Why don't you go outside for a while?" suggested Balian, changing the subject. "Children shouldn't really be here."

Éothain nodded and herded the others outside, just a certain elf and a certain dwarf came in, still arguing.

"I tell you, Gimli," Legolas was saying. "It was a kill. That orc was twitching."

"How many times do I have to say it before it gets through your thick skull elf?" said Gimli. "It was twitching because it had my axe embedded in its nervous system! Anyway, it was still twitching after you shot it."

"It was still moving, even after you brought it down," said Legolas. "Therefore you did not manage to kill it. Your count is now lowered to forty-two. It's a draw."

"A draw? Clearly, I won!"

"My dear dwarf, I am being courteous when I say it is a draw. In actual fact, I won."

"Do explain," said Balian, interrupting their conversation despite the fact that Aragorn was mouthing the word 'no' at him. "How can you have won when you two cannot even decide how many orcs you both killed?"

Legolas sighed. "I shouldn't have to explain it to you of all people, Balian," said the elf. "Do you remember that ladder? At least twenty orcs would have been crushed because of that one shot and I haven't included them. If Gimli won't play nicely then I will have to add them to my score. That makes sixty three, or sixty two at the very least, outscoring the dwarf by far."

Gimli gaped at the elf, not sure of what to say. Legolas grinned smugly. "Therefore, according to these numbers," he continued "I declare myself the winner." The elf turned to the dwarf. "My friend, I believe you owe me something?"

Gimli son of Gloín dearly wanted to say that the elf believed wrongly, but that would be a dent in his honour. He couldn't compromise his reputation, although his reputation as a fearsome dwarf warrior was about to be ruined anyway.

"Fine," he growled. "I'll pretend to be a donkey for two hours. Satisfied?"

"You'll what, Master Dwarf?" said Éomer with his eyes wide. He looked from Gimli to Legolas then back to Gimli again.

"The deal was three hours," said Legolas cheerfully "but I am a merciful elf and I accept your offer."

"When do the two hours begin?" asked Éowyn. She wanted to be as far away as possible when they began. Watching an elf being killed by an angry dwarf who was pretending to be a donkey was not a pleasant thing.

"They start now," said Legolas.

"Come on, Sister," said Éomer. "I am sure the King will want to see us." He turned to the others. "We take our leave."

"I need to look after the little ones," said Balian, snatching up his clothing and hastening for the door. He would have to wait until Legolas stopped being so evil before he could get back at the elf for calling him the 'childminder of Rohan'.

"I think I'll stay and make sure nothing happens," said Aragorn. He wanted to try and dissuade Legolas from humiliating the proud dwarf.

'Brave man to try to get between the elf and his wishes,' thought Balian as he sped through the door, bumping into Gandalf.

"Ho, young man," said the wizard. "What's the hurry? You look as if you have a balrog on your tail. Tell me, have you helped them to reach a conclusion yet?"

"Err, it seemed that Legolas did not need my help after all," said Balian. "Please try and stop what's about to happen."

Gandalf frowned in confusion, just as what sounded like an angry 'hee-haw' reached their ears. The wizard rushed in, no doubt to stop the madness. Balian lingered just outside the door, wanting to see what was going on yet afraid to go in. Gimli no doubt would be incensed, especially since all of his friends, save one, had deserted him in his time of need. (At the moment, the dwarf probably did not number Legolas among his friends.) Curiosity got the better of him and Balian peered in around the door.

"…don't be absurd, Legolas," Gandalf was saying. "It is totally inappropriate that Gimli has to pretend to be a beast of burden at all, let alone for such a long time. I am sure that Gimli would not do this to you if it was you who lost."

"Oh yes I would," muttered the dwarf under his breath. Gandalf glared at him and he shut his mouth.

"A promise is a promise," said Legolas firmly.

"You are being immature. How old are you, Master Greenleaf?"

"Two thousand nine hundred and thirty one years old; a mere adolescent by my people's standards. I can afford to be immature."

"Not with this sort of thing you can't," said Aragorn. "Even _Pippin_ wouldn't do this."

Legolas crossed his arms. He was not giving up. Gandalf knew the expression on the young elf's face. He had often seen King Thranduil wearing it. The wizard decided to change tactics. "Well, since you are merely an adolescent and still prone to childish pranks, I must leave you behind when we go to Isengard," he said. "We cannot afford to have a child hold us back."

Legolas glared. "Fine," he said. "The deal is off." Then he grinned. "The dwarf didn't make a very good donkey anyway."

"Why you…!" shouted Gimli, lunging at the elf. Laughing, Legolas leapt out of the way and ran out of the room, chased by a furious dwarf.

* * *

They left for Isengard after they had returned to Edoras to rest and dine. Gandalf rode at the front with Théoden. Aragorn rode beside Legolas and Gimli. Balian brought up the rear with Éomer. The ride was long and much destruction met their eyes as they passed through Rohan. Houses and farms had been razed to the ground, with nothing but burnt rubble and stubble to indicate that there had been anything in the first place. Rotting, half-eaten livestock littered the ground and gave off the foul odour of death. Rohan had truly been brought to its knees by this Saruman's hordes. Why any conqueror wanted to cause so much destruction was beyond Balian's understanding. Did Saruman want to be the lord of nothing? 

Éomer's face was dark with anger as he surveyed the ruins of the villages. He desperately wanted to have his hands around Saruman's neck, and Grima Wormtongue's as well. They would pay for what they had done. He would see to it.

In the distance, a tall tower rose from the horizon like a proud spear jutting up at the heavens in defiance. It looked the way Balian expected the Tower of Babel to look like. The city of Jerusalem was a mere village compared to this. Seeing it made him feel small and insignificant in this world of colossal feats of construction and great men. Here he was, riding with kings, wizards and immortal beings as if he was an equal. He suddenly realized how out of place he was in this world and he longed for the comfortable familiarity of his forge back in France. That was where he truly belonged. He was a blacksmith, a craftsman. He was born to build, not to destroy.

They travelled to the tower through Fangorn Forest to avoid the boggy ground south of Isengard. It seemed as if there had been a flood recently. With Gandalf, the forest appeared to lose some of its malevolence. The blacksmith regarded the trees warily, remembering what had happened to the orcs outside Helms Deep. He had no desire to be crushed by a tree. Guy was not part of their company and Balian was very glad to be free of him. The man had been complaining throughout the journey back to Edoras. If his arms weren't cramped from shooting so many arrows, then he would have some other ailment to whine about. He was now 'resting' in Edoras under the watchful eye of Éowyn. Everyone doubted that the Shieldmaiden would let him lie around and do nothing.

As they near the tower, land gave way to water and the horses had to trudge through it to reach the tower. On the wall around the tower were two small figures making enough noise for a contingent of men. When they saw the King and his company, they stood up and raised their mugs of God-knew-what in a toast.

"Welcome, milords, to Isengard!" cried Merry with a flourish, brandishing a piece of meat. Pippin's mouth was too full to say anything.

"You young rascals!" shouted Gimli in joy. "A merry hunt you've led us on and now we find you here feasting and… and smoking."

Pippin had swallowed sufficiently to retort. "We are sitting on a field of victory enjoying a few well-earned comforts," he said, blowing out a smoke ring. The dwarf looked appalled. "The salted pork is particularly good."

"Salted pork?" said Gimli hopefully, forgetting all his grievances against the hobbits.

Gandalf shook his head. "Hobbits," he said.

"Is there any left for us?" said Balian.

"We hobbits are always hospitable towards our friends," said Merry.

"Come down here," said Aragorn. "I'm getting a crick in my neck from looking up at you."

The hobbits scrambled down and waded their way towards the riders. Merry and Pippin climbed up into the saddle before Balian and Aragorn respectively. The youngest hobbit was still holding a tankard.

"You seem taller," said Balian. Pippin grinned. In front of Aragorn, Merry looked smug.

"You haven't changed," said Pippin.

Balian laughed. "I hope not. It hasn't been that long since I last saw you."

"Oh, enough has changed alright," chuckled Legolas. "Did you know that Balian has taken up a new profession?"

"What new profession?" said Balian.

"Nanny," said Legolas solemnly.

'He is really going to regret this,' thought Balian darkly as he rode up to the tower with a laughing hobbit in front of him. Before he could think of how he would get his revenge, movement caught his eye. It was a walking, talking tree. The blacksmith blinked a couple of times to make sure that he was not dreaming.

"Pinch me," he whispered to Pippin.

"Why?" asked the hobbit.

"There is a walking, talking tree in front of me. I want to know whether I'm dreaming or not."

"You're not dreaming, Balian. That's Treebeard. He's an ent; a tree-herder. He takes care of the forest, like the way a shepherd takes care of sheep. He's not actually a tree himself."

'God,' thought Balian. 'What next? Walking, talking rocks?' Before he could ask any more questions, a silence fell upon the group and Balian followed their gazes towards the top of the tower. A lone sinister silhouette stood there, looking down on them.

"You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King," said a beguiling voice. "Can we not take counsel together, as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?"

Balian did not even have to guess who it was who had spoken.

All eyes turned to the King.

"We shall have peace," said Théoden. Everyone looked at him as if he had gone mad. Balian suspected that he had. Why would he want peace with the person who had wanted to raze his country to the ground.

"We shall have peace," said Théoden more vehemently "when you answer for the burning of the Westfold, and the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet, for the sport of your own crows, we shall have peace."

They collectively released a sigh of relief. For a moment, they thought the King had fallen under Saruman's spell yet again.

"Gibbets and crows?" spat Saruman. "Dotard!" He schooled his voice and made it calm again, but this time, it carried an underlying haughty tone which surpassed even Guy's arrogance.

"What do you want, Gandalf the _Grey_?" he sneered. "Let me guess; the key to Orthanc and the key to Barad-dûr itself, along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the five wizards!"

"Your treachery has already cost many lives," said Gandalf civilly. "Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's counsel."

"So you have come here for information," said Saruman. His face was too far away to see but Balian could hear the cold smile in his voice. "I have some for you." From within his sleeve he pulled out a globular object and held it out before his face. "Something festers in the heart of Middle Earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it! Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon. You are all going to die!"

* * *

**A/N: **I know I have taken some liberties with the characters' personalities in this chapter, especially with Legolas and Gimli. It's all for the sake of comedy. They always struck me as the most immature members of the Fellowship after Merry and Pippin. Please review! Reviews brighten up my day! And I write faster if I get more reviews and therefore the next chapter could be longer :) Till next time! 


	27. Voices and Headaches

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer:** I don't Balian, the Fellowship, or anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 27: Voices and Headaches**

Saruman's voice was so intoxicating and his words were so convincing that Balian almost found himself believing the fallen wizard. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. 'He has the voice of Satan,' he told himself. 'He knows how to manipulate the truth.'

"…Save your pity and your mercy!" the wizard was saying. "I have no use for it!" A ball of fire shot down from his staff to envelope Gandalf. They all shielded their faces from the blaze but as the flames died down, they could see that Gandalf was unharmed.

"Saruman," said Gandalf. "Your staff is broken." The other wizard's staff began to vibrate then it shattered with a blast of light. Saruman looked at the splinters of wood that he grasped, seemingly too shocked to speak. A stooped figure crept up behind him and Balian recognized him as Théoden's former adviser, Grima Wormtongue.

"Grima," called Théoden. "You need not follow him. You were once a man of Rohan." It seemed that the King had forgiven Wormtongue for what he had done. Balian looked at the King with new respect. Only a great man could forgive so easily.

"A man of Rohan?" sneered Saruman, who had recovered from his initial shock. "What is the House of Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs? The victory at Helms Deep does not belong to you, Théoden King! You are a lesser son of greater sires."

Balian could see Éomer bristling in anger but Théoden ignored the insult and focused on Grima. "Come down, Grima," he said. "Be free of him."

"Free?" said Saruman. "He will never be free!

"No," said Grima.

"Get. Down. _Cur_!" snarled the wizard, striking the man across the face.

"Saruman," said Gandalf. He had no interest in wayward advisers at the moment. He needed Saruman to stay on topic. "You were deep in the Enemy's counsel. Tell us what you know."

"You withdraw you guard and I shall tell you where your doom is to be decided," said Saruman, laying down his conditions. "I will not be held prisoner here!" He got his wish, for at that moment, just as he finished the last word, Grima Wormtongue stabbed him in the back multiple times. The wizard gasped in shock as the blade entered his flesh. Legolas put an arrow to the string and released it, piercing Wormtongue's heart. The man fell back with a cry and died.

Saruman's lifeless body tumbled down from the top of the tower and was impaled by a spike on one of his own water wheels. The wheel turned, pulling the wizard's corpse beneath the water's surface. A round object fell from the corpse's sleeve, unnoticed by all except Pippin.

"Send word to all our allies," said Gandalf. "Sauron will attack soon. We need to know where he will strike." Théoden nodded, looking worried.

"The filth of Saruman is washing away," said the tree... 'Ent,' Balian corrected himself. 'And its…his name is Treebeard.'

"Trees will come back to live here," continued Treebeard. "Young trees. Wild trees."

Pippin slid off from in front of Balian and waded through the water. "Pippin?" said Balian. What was the hobbit doing? Pippin ignored him and bent down to retrieve something from the water. It was a crystal sphere, the size of a small melon. Something flickered within its centre and it beckoned to the hobbit, tempting him to look into it. Pippin turned it over in his hands, seemingly intoxicated by it. He was so absorbed that he did not notice Gandalf riding up behind him until the wizard spoke. "I'll take that, Peregrin my lad," said Gandalf, holding out a cloth-covered hand. Pippin looked up at the wizard and hesitated.

"Quickly now," said Gandalf. Reluctantly, Pippin handed it over to the wizard who immediately wrapped it up in the cloth and stowed it away in the folds of his robes.

Balian wondered what was so significant about that crystal ball. It disturbed him somehow, although it was an inanimate object. They rode back to Edoras in silence, each preoccupied with deciphering the meaning of Saruman's words.

Éowyn was waiting for them on the steps of Meduseld, looking as she did when the Fellowship first saw her. The green and gold banners of Rohan waved proudly in the breeze, telling all who saw them of the victory at Helms Deep. Inside, people scurried about like bees in a hive, preparing for a banquet. Tables were being set up and tapestries put back on the walls. Guy had been given a broom and was sweeping the floor with a scowl on his face. In actual fact he was pushing the dust around and sending it flying everywhere until Balian could bear it no longer, snatched the broom from his grasp and began to do the chore himself, with much more efficiency.

Happy, laughing children got underfoot and more than once, their leather ball tripped someone up and sent them falling flat onto their faces. No one minded much, although Balian did pretend to sweep them all outside with his broom, making them giggle even more. "Away with you," he said in mock anger. "You are a danger to people who are trying to do honest work!" They danced out of the reach of his broom and pulled faces.

Inside the kitchens, Merry and Pippin were giving instructions on how best to cook the meat and other foodstuffs. "Mushrooms should be stewed in wine then smothered in cheese," said Merry.

"No they shouldn't," said Pippin.

"Well how would you do it then, oh great chef of the Shire?" said Merry. "Give us your expert opinion."

"Mushrooms," said Pippin with the air of a professional "should be stuffed, battered and fried in butter until the batter is crisp and the mushrooms and stuffing are cooked."

"How about mushroom salad?" suggested Legolas who had come in to fetch a drink. The hobbits eyed him as if he had suggested that they jump over the moon.

"That would just be a waste of perfectly good mushrooms," they both said vehemently.

* * *

That night, all the Rohirrim warriors and Éowyn gathered in the Great Hall. The atmosphere was solemn as they thought of the ones who should have been here with them, celebrating the victory. "Tonight," said Théoden, rising to his feet as Éowyn handed him a golden goblet of wine. Everyone rose as the King did. "We gather to remember those who gave their lives to defend this country," continued the King. "All hail the victorious dead."

"Hail!" they all echoed and drank from their frothy tankards of ale. It tasted bitter to Balian, like the sentiments that they were all surely feeling. So many lives, lost. Of his group of men, only ten survived. Many of the boys were hewn down by the orcs' merciless swords. He remembered their young faces, so full of hope when he knighted them. They had trusted him to lead them through it safely, and he had failed.

"It's hard, isn't it?" said Éomer, coming up behind him with a tankard of his own in his hand. "I've lost many men, and I'm still not used to it."

"I suppose it means we're still human," said Balian softly. "The day we get used to it is the day we cease to be men and become monsters."

"Let's hope that day never comes," said Éomer, raising his tankard in a toast.

"God willing, it won't," said Balian. He too raised his tankard to his lips but stopped when his companion gave him a strange look.

"Who is this 'God' you're talking about?" the Rohirrim man asked.

Balian felt totally perplexed. How could he explain it? He was no priest. Indeed, he was not even a particularly religious man. "Err…" he said. "God…is the entity that created everything…He is almighty and compassionate and well, he takes care of everything and judges men's souls when they die."

"So he's like the One," said Éomer.

"I guess," said Balian who knew nothing about religions in Middle Earth. He made a note to ask someone about it later.

"Ah, what are we doing, talking about such serious things tonight," said Éomer. "Come, you should join in the fun." He dragged the blacksmith in the direction where Legolas and Gimli seemed to be intent on embarrassing one another.

"Well, they certainly look as if they need some help," said Éomer. "What say we engage them in a drinking contest?"

"A drinking contest?" said Balian.

"I'll explain later."

* * *

Balian, Gimli and Legolas each held a tankard. A crowd had gathered around them, cheering them on. Gimli had a look of glee on his face while both Balian and Legolas looked dubiously into their tankards.

"No pauses, no spills," said Éomer.

"And no regurgitation," added the dwarf.

"So…it's a drinking game?" said Legolas

"What _exactly_ is the point of it?" said Balian.

"Last one standing wins!" cried Gimli, raising his drink to his lips and gulping it down.

Balian followed suit, although he did it with a grimace. Ale was definitely not to his taste. Legolas gave his ale a few uncertain sniffs then took a sip. With one swift movement, he poured it down his throat. As soon as they finished one, they were handed another. Soon, Balian lost count on how many he had drunk and focused on just getting it down. Why he even agreed, he had no idea. His world started spinning and his tongue became too fat and cumbersome to use properly. From across the hall, Éowyn glared at her brother who just shrugged as he handed another tankard to the less-than-sober blacksmith. She stormed over. "Is this how you treat your friends?" she said.

"He agreed," said Éomer. "I didn't threaten him."

'Men can be so frustratingly stupid,' thought Éowyn, relieving Balian of his tankard. The blacksmith would have crumpled into a drunken heap by now if he was not sitting in a chair and leaning against the table. The Shieldmaiden of Rohan sighed and went away to find someone to brew willowbark tea for when the drunks woke up. Somehow, the tea that she brewed always augmented their headaches, or so they claimed.

* * *

Pippin couldn't sleep. Something lurked at the back of his mind, causing him to feel restless. He gave up and got up. Everyone was asleep and immersed in drink-induced dreams. He headed towards the bed where Gandalf was lying. He wanted to see what was inside that crystal ball. Slowly, he crept amongst the bedrolls upon which lay sleepers of varying sizes. Gimli's snores shook the foundations of the building while Balian was curled up on his side, clutching a blanket to his chin, blissfully unaware of what was going on. Aragorn and Legolas were nowhere to be seen. Pippin assumed that they were housed elsewhere.

Gandalf's open eyes nearly made Pippin jump back but the wizard did not seem to have seen him. He waved his hand before the wizard's face. Said wizard mumbled something inaudible. Yes, Gandalf was asleep. It was uncanny how some things such as elves and wizards could sleep with their eyes open. One could never tell whether they were sleeping or not.

The hobbit grabbed the wrapped up crystal ball from Gandalf's arms and replaced it with a jug of around the same size. The wizard did not notice the difference.

"What you doin'" said Merry sleepily. Pippin almost dropped his prize. He ran back to his bedroll, jumping over sleeping bodies. His bare feet made no noise on the cold flagstones.

"I just want to have a look at it," he said, unwrapping the cloth from crystal ball.

"Put it back!" hissed Merry. The young Took did not listen to his cousin. The crystal ball lay exposed before him. Breathing quickly with apprehension, he placed his hand on its hard smooth surface.

Merry watched Pippin's expression change from one of awe to horror to pain. His cousin seemed to be burning from within. Pippin fell to the floor, writhing in pain. His mouth was open in a silent scream of agony.

"Help!" cried Merry, waking everyone. "Gandalf!" Before the wizard could do anything however, Aragorn and Legolas burst into the room. The ranger did not think before he seized the _thing_ from Pippin's hands. Immediately, he fell to his knees and dropped it. It rolled across the floor, and men avoided it. The crystal ball stopped by the wall and Gandalf immediately threw the cloth over it.

"Fool of a Took!" he shouted for a second time. Pippin lay on his bedroll as if his life force had been sucked out of him. His face was the colour of curdled milk and he was sweating and shivering at the same time. The wizard rushed over to him, put a hand over his head and murmured a few words which Balian suspected were a healing charm of some sort.

"What did you see?" asked Gandalf.

"Gandalf," wheezed Pippin. "Forgive me."

"What did you see?" repeated the wizard, more strongly this time.

"A tree," said the hobbit. "A white tree in a courtyard of stone. It was dead…"

"And?" Gandalf said encouragingly.

"The city was burning. I saw…I saw_ him_! I heard his voice inside my head. He asked me my name. I didn't answer. He hurt me…"

That was all Balian could bear to hear. He went out of the room and into the open, taking deep gulps of crisp cold air. His head felt as if there was a battle raging inside, complete with catapults, ballistae, siege towers and a battering ram. Pippin's words made him feel ill. If this _Sauron_ could hurt people from such a distance, what would happen if he succeeded and took over Middle Earth?

On the horizon, the fires of Mordor tinged the sky red, as if it was stained with blood. The blacksmith felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Éowyn. "I heard the commotion," she said. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," said Balian. "It's just a headache."

"Your face looks like mellowing cheese in this light," she said. "It must be some headache you're having. Come, there's a tea waiting for you in the kitchens. I knew this would happen." Balian doubted she was talking about Pippin and the crystal ball.

"See to Pippin first," he said. "I can wait."

"Gandalf is looking after him," she said. "I wouldn't know what to do anyway."

"What is that crystal ball?" he asked. "How can Sauron use it at such a distance?"

"I don't know," said Éowyn.

"It's a palantir," said Legolas, coming out. "It's a seeing stone. There were seven of them originally but they were all thought to be lost. It seems that Sauron has found one of them and was using it to communicate with Saruman. I'd hate to think what could have happened if Pippin had maintained the link for just a moment longer."

"Thanks to Aragorn's quick reactions, we won't have to find out," said Balian. "How is he?"

"Pippin?"

"No, Aragorn."

"Drained, but otherwise unharmed. He didn't hold it for long enough." The elf looked Balian up and down. "You look ill, Balian. Why don't you go in with Éowyn to get some tea? Gandalf will tell us what we are to do in the morning. At the moment, all we can do is wait."

* * *

Morning came soon enough. Pippin looked much better but still very pale. Balian's headache had receded somewhat thanks to the willowbark tea which did not taste much worse than the ale and now there was only a dull throb behind his eyes.

"We were extremely fortunate," Gandalf was saying. "Pippin saw in the palantir a glimpse of Sauron's plans. He will strike at Minas Tirith." He turned to his assembled audience which consisted of the King, Éomer and the other members of the Fellowship, not including Guy who was still sleeping off the effects of last night's liquor.

"His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our enemy one thing," continued the wizard. "He knows the Heir of Elendil has come forth. Men are not as weak as he supposed. There is courage still. Strength enough, perhaps, to challenge him." He turned to Aragorn and looked at him meaningfully. "Sauron fears this. He will not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King return to the throne of men. If the beacons of Gondor are lit Rohan must be ready for war."

The King crossed his arms. "Tell me," he said with ill-disguised impatience. "Why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What do we owe Gondor?" Balian wondered at this. Just yesterday, he had been so ready to forgive Grima Wormtongue. Why was Théoden not ready to forgive Gondor? What grievances did he have against Boromir's countrymen?

"I will go," said Aragorn.

"No," said Gandalf.

"They must be warned!" insisted the ranger.

"They will be," Gandalf assured him. He leant towards Aragorn and spoke in a low voice into the man's ear. "You must come to Minas Tirith by another road. Follow the river. Look to the black ships." He turned back to all of them. "Understand this; things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith." The wizard turned to Pippin and gave the hobbit a stern glare. "And I won't be going alone."

* * *

**A/N: **Did you guys like it? Hate it? Please tell me. It just occurred to me that I've never seen Balian drunk or acting in a less than sensible way before so here goes: Intoxicated Knight. Hope you guys didn't mind too much. Heh heh. Now we're going onto the serious stuff again. Another questionnaire: Should Balian go with Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas into the paths of the dead or should he stay behind to ride to battle with the Rohirrim? Include answers in reviews! (This should be more incentive to leave me some reviews ;D) 


	28. The White City

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Balian, Legolas, Aragorn etc. etc. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**First Author's Note:** There were lots of good suggestions in response to the questionnaire. I sort of decided (on my own) that Balian should become a little more independent. He has been tagging along with the Fellowship for quite some time now. So the ideas came down to he either goes to Minas Tirith with Gandalf and Pippin (Courtesy of _Spellcaster Hikaru_) or he stays with the Rohirrim and rides to Gondor with them. I loved both ideas and had written drafts for both. Unfortunately, only one possibility can be uploaded. I tossed a coin to decide and the result: To Minas Tirith with Gandalf and Pippin. For those of you who wanted him to go to the Paths of the Dead, there will be compensation (read on to find out). Anyway, enough rambling, onto the story.

**Chapter 28: The White City**

Gandalf's white robes billowed out behind him as he made his way to the stables with Merry and Pippin in tow. The wizard was still berating the youngest hobbit for his dangerous curiosity. Pippin's cousin was doing exactly the same thing. They found Balian in the stables, waiting for them.

"Gandalf," began the blacksmith hesitantly. He felt a little uncomfortable saying this. "Are you sure it's safe for you to travel alone to…to Gondor?"

"It will never be 'safe' as long as Barad-dûr still stands, young man," said the wizard. "Whether I ride alone or with an escort will make no difference…" He trailed off, glancing at Balian who looked embarrassed. He had heard that the man was a talented commander. Both Théoden and Aragorn had commended him. Gondor needed men like him. Théoden had Éomer and the King of Rohan himself was a competent leader both in war and during times of peace, not to mention Aragorn was going to be with them up until they reached Dunharrow. With Boromir dead and Faramir constantly in disfavour with the Steward, maybe it would be wise to take Balian along. The man might just prove to be useful.

"If you're volunteering to come with me," continued Gandalf "I shall certainly not object."

Moments later, two horses raced through the gates of Edoras. Aragorn and Merry watched them go from the watchtower. "Who's with them?" asked Gimli, coming up to join the two.

"Balian's going to Minas Tirith with them," said Aragorn. "Gandalf thought he'd be more useful there."

"Hmph," snorted the dwarf. "The lad told you, told Merry, but he forgot about Legolas and me."

"Actually, that's not true," said Legolas. "He told me but he couldn't find you in time, so he told me to tell you."

"I'm glad he's going," said Aragorn. "Gondor will have need of his services before long. I just wish I could see his face when he finds out they have trebuchets."

"That's all very well," said Gimli "but he left us alone with his friend."

"What friend?" said Merry. Legolas and Aragorn just groaned as they heard an irritating and familiar drawl.

"Oh, it's Guy," said Merry.

* * *

Balian had never seen forests quite like the forests in Middle Earth. They were all so different from each other. The one that they were riding through was decidedly better than Fangorn. At least the trees stayed still. The path was littered with dead leaves and at the base of trees, strange plants with leaves that resembled feathers grew. Gandalf had called them 'ferns'. Balian glanced in Gandalf's direction. Pippin was dozing in front of the wizard, looking very much like a small child with his grandfather. The small company stopped during nights for Balian's benefit. Gandalf could go for days without sleep. The man was grateful for their consideration. No one else, save maybe Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, would have done it for him. Godfrey certainly would not. 

Soon, the forest gave way to open plains and smooth round hills covered in yellowing grass. The horses' hooves sent water flying up as they rode through a small stream flowing down from the gleaming snow-capped mountains. "We've just passed into the realm of Gondor!" said Gandalf. In front of them lay a white city. Mordor loomed in the horizon. The skies above it were dark with clouds and poisonous fumes, lit by occasional flashes of red light. They urged the horses on, knowing that the sooner they got to the city, the better.

* * *

Éomer inwardly cursed Balian for leaving Guy in Rohan. He had abandoned them, so the least he could do was take the arrogant bastard with him. Guy was all too keen on advising the Rohirrim in the arts of war during the war councils. He was patiently —or impatiently, in Éomer's case— ignored. The Third Marshal could not stand the man who thought he was better than everyone else. Sometimes, the temptation to strangle him was almost too great. He found it impressive that his uncle could be so patient. 'That's why Théoden is a good king,' he told himself with a wry smile. It was fortunate that Guy was wont to avoid Éomer after their first run in with each other. 

Tension permeated the atmosphere in Edoras. Worried glances were cast in the direction of Mordor every few moments. The days were growing darker. The sun was often hidden behind dark clouds. A storm was brewing. Legolas looked towards the east and frowned. Gandalf and his little company had left for Gondor three days ago. They should be there by now. He didn't know what was worse; facing the oncoming enemy hordes or waiting for news of them. Even after centuries of doing both, he still could not decide.

Aragorn spent every waking moment watching the beacon on the mountain top. The future king was worried about the welfare of his country. The elf could not blame him for being so anxious. He thought about his home often, wondering how his father and his brothers were coping. Greenwood was no longer safe. Sauron's forces occupied much of it now and it was a daily struggle to prevent darkness from taking over the entire forest. With Aragorn so occupied, Legolas spent much time in the Hall of Meduseld, listening to the King discussing battle strategies with Éomer and other Rohirrim advisers. Guy was constantly present, trying to give his expert opinion. He was often silenced by the story of the one great battle that he fought and lost, made infamous through many renditions. Somehow, it didn't deter him for long.

* * *

Up close, Minas Tirith was a wonder that Balian could hardly find words to describe. It seemed like a citadel which angels in Heaven would occupy. Before seeing it for himself, he had always envisioned it as a glorified Kerak Castle of white stone with a few towers like Orthanc. The first level alone was higher than the walls of Jerusalem. Like Helms Deep, Minas Tirith was built against steep cliffs and was semi-circular in shape. Balian did not understand why the people in Middle Earth did not understand the dangers of this style of fortress. It was too late now. The gargantuan gates with spectacular reliefs of things which Balian thought to be historical events opened with a creak. They rode through, and up the city, making people jump out of their way. 

At the very top, in the courtyard where a dead tree with white bark stood, Gandalf dismounted and Balian followed the wizard's example. He was too awed by the city's immensity to speak. Everything seemed to be white, like the way Balian imagined Heaven to be, if not for the spectacular view of Mordor which the city offered.

"It's the tree," said Pippin in awe. "Gandalf! It's the tree!"

"Yes," said the wizard not bothering to turn around as he strode towards the entrance of the Citadel. Balian and Pippin followed him, the hobbit almost needing to run to catch up with the other two's long strides. "The White Tree of Gondor, the Tree of the King. Lord Denethor, however, is not King. He is a Steward only, a caretaker of the throne." Gandalf stopped just before the door and turned to Balian and Pippin.

"You must be very careful with what you say," he told them. "Lord Denethor is Boromir's father. To tell him of his beloved son's death would be most unwise, and don't say anything about Frodo and the Ring… and say nothing of Aragorn either." The wizard paused just as he was about to go in. "In fact, it would be better if you didn't speak at all Peregrin Took. Balian, you know what to do."

'Do I?' thought Balian, but he had no time to say anything before the doors —which were black, in contrast to the overwhelming white of the city— opened and they had to go in. The interior was made entirely of marble. Huge white columns supported the domed ceiling and translucent marble statues of the Kings of old lined the colonnade. At the far end was the throne of smooth black marble. It was empty. A man with a sceptre of white wood sat in a chair beside the throne. In his lap was a horn, cleaved into two.

Balian's heart clenched as he recognized it. It had been Boromir's.

"Hail, Denethor, Son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor," said Gandalf. "I bring tidings at this dark hour, and counsel."

"Perhaps you come to explain this?" said Denethor slowly in a rasping voice, holding up the two halves of the horn. "Perhaps you come to tell me why my son is dead?"

Balian's mouth opened, but he was robbed of words. Grief welled up inside him as he recalled how Boromir had taken the arrow that had been meant for him. It was Pippin who spoke first, despite Gandalf's advice.

"Boromir died to save us, my kinsmen and me," he said, stepping forward and kneeling down on one knee. "He fell defending us from many foes. I offer you my service, such as it is, in payment of this dept."

The blacksmith finally found his voice. He also knelt. "Boromir's death is not Pippin's responsibility alone," he said. "If not for me, he would have lived. I, too, offer you my service in payment of the dept that I owe him."

Gandalf groaned silently as his two young companions went against all his advice. Clearly, he had overrated Balian's common sense. He watched Denethor's response closely, ready to act if the Steward showed any inclination to harm either one of them.

"Explain!" commanded the Steward. "How is it that you lived and my son died, as great a man as he was?"

Pippin and Balian glanced at each other. Then Pippin spoke. "The greatest man may be slain by one arrow," he said quietly "and Boromir was pierced by many."

Denethor seemed shocked to learn that his son had not died immediately. He turned cold hard eyes to Balian. "And you? What part did you play in his death?" he demanded.

"Boromir took an arrow that was meant for me," said Balian. "It should've been me who died that day, not him."

"Yes, indeed you are right about that much," said the Steward. "It should've been you. But tell me, did he really take that arrow for you or did you push him into its path to save yourself?"

The wizard started at this question. He had expected Pippin to cause trouble, not Balian and yet it seemed as if it would be the blacksmith who would need rescuing. "Lord Steward," said Gandalf, stepping in front of Balian protectively "I assure you that Balian's honour is not under question. He has proved himself to be loyal to our cause. There will be time to grieve for Boromir but it is not now. The enemy is on your doorstep! Where are Gondor's armies? You are not alone. Gondor still has friends. Send word to Théoden of Rohan. Light the beacons."

"_Our_ cause?" said Denethor mockingly "or, rather, your cause? Do you really think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor and with you right you would seek to supplant me. Oh yes, I know who rides with Théoden of Rohan. I have heard of this Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and I tell you now that no ranger from the north will ever rule this kingdom, last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship."

Balian knew he should not have been surprised at Aragorn's identity —there had been some not-so-subtle hints— but it still did not stop him from feeling shocked to hear it being said outright.

"Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the King, _Steward_," said Gandalf.

Denethor stood up, almost frothing at the mouth in his anger. "The rule of Gondor is mine, and no other's!" he snarled.

Balian looked up in alarm. What was going to happen? Denethor was certainly not going to cooperate, and he controlled Gondor. Gandalf turned to him and Pippin. They were still kneeling on the floor. "Come," he told them as he turned to walk out of the throne room, seething with unspent rage. They had no choice but to obey, leaving the Steward to his anguish. "All has turned to vain ambition," said Gandalf as they went out. "He would even use his grief as a cloak."

Outside, the sky seemed darker than when they went in. Gandalf glanced back at the citadel and sighed. "A thousand years this city has stood, and now at the whim of a madman, it will fall and the White Tree, the Tree of the King, will never flower again."

"Why are they still guarding it then?" said Pippin.

"They guard it because they still have hope," said Gandalf. "A faint and fading hope that one day the king will return."

They walked to the end of the parapet which faced the east and looked across the plain to Mordor.

"Mordor…" breathed Pippin.

"Yes, there it lies," said Gandalf wearily. "Ever has this city dwelt in its shadow."

"Well…" said the hobbit, putting on a cheerful face. "Minas Tirith. Very impressive. So where are we off to next?"

Balian smiled at Pippin's tactic. He doubted that it would work. As he had predicted, Gandalf looked at the hobbit incredulously. "Oh, it's too late for that now, Peregrin Took. Help must come to us."

The blacksmith prayed that it would come in time. Théoden had not seemed very enthusiastic about aiding Gondor. Now that he was here and could not leave, Balian decided to explore the legendary city. He told Gandalf so. "Care to come with me, Pippin?" he said. The hobbit should not dwell on such morbid things such as Mordor. They might as well make the best of their stay in Minas Tirith. It could very well be the last moments of their lives.

* * *

All around the city, people were preparing for war. Balian noted with delight the well-made trebuchets placed on the walls, although he would have preferred to have them behind the walls instead to give the war engines more protection. However, given the design of Minas Tirith, it was impossible to do so. Pippin was much more interested in the various food stalls on the streets, selling sweets, fruits and all sorts of little morsels. He spent much time examining them while Balian inspected the defences. It wasn't until it was dusk that they realized they should be heading back to the citadel. They found uniforms laid out for them in the one chamber that they shared. They included chainmail and a black surcoat with a white tree for Pippin and a suit of rather cumbersome armour for Balian. 

"How am I supposed to fight in this?" said Balian as he clanked around the room. He could hardly move. It was much heavier than the armour that he was used to.

"You'll just have to get used to it," said Gandalf unsympathetically in between inhaling smoke and coughing at their ridiculousness. After all, the young blacksmith had foolishly offered his services to the Steward.

"You look very handsome in it, Balian," said Pippin sincerely. He was trying on his own armour and examining the miniature sword which came with it.

"Yes, too bad I can't woo the orcs instead of fight them," said Balian. It seemed that being with Legolas and Gimli had influenced him. Whether it was in a bad way or a good way, Gandalf could not decide.

"I suppose this is a ceremonial position," said Pippin, looking at his reflection in the mirror. "I mean, they don't expect me to do any fighting, do they?"

"You're in the service of the _Steward_," said Gandalf. "You'll have to do as you're told." The wizard coughed some more, muttering to himself. "Ridiculous hobbit," said the wizard to himself around the stem of his pipe. "Guard of the Citadel…"

Pippin poured the wizard a cup of water which Gandalf gratefully took.

"So what am I supposed to be?" said Balian. "I don't think they want me to replace a statue, even though I feel like one at the moment."

"You're to join the garrison in Osgiliath," said Gandalf. "Denethor himself commanded it. You'll be serving under Captain Faramir."

"Faramir? Isn't that…?"

"Yes. You'll be serving under Boromir's brother in one of the most dangerous places in Middle Earth. Consider this the payment for your debt."

* * *

**A/N:** Love it? Hate it? Have something to tell me? Please review! I'm on a high about PotC:AWE and I haven't even seen the movie yet. Hehe, Balian at Osgiliath…I know, it's evil but Denethor isn't feeling particularly benevolent towards him at the moment. I mean, he just admitted that he was the cause of Boromir's death. 


	29. The Board is Set

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **No, I don't own Balian, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, etc. (unfortunately) I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 29: The Board is Set **

Aragorn paced restlessly on the steps of Meduseld. His pipe was in his mouth but it was unlit. He kept glancing at the beacon on the mountain, wishing he knew what was going on in the east. Gandalf had been gone for days. He should've arrived in Minas Tirith by now. Why was there still no news? He willed himself to calm down and to sit instead of pace. Gandalf was wise and powerful, and he had Balian with him. This combination should ensure that Gondor would be defended and that the Rohirrim were informed if there was any need. The ranger sighed. No matter how much he reassured himself, he still felt uneasy. The sky was clear and blue now, but who knew when the storm would come? For all he knew, it had already arrived at Gondor's doorstep and was making its way west until all the lands from Mordor to the Grey Havens were under its shadow.

* * *

Balian was sworn into service the day after their arrival and sent to Osgiliath. He had seen the city from the balcony once, and had privately renamed it the Broken City. Even from the distance, it resembled an ancient Roman amphitheatre. The young man had more or less gotten his cumbersome armour under control, although it still worried him. He doubted he could survive an actual skirmish with it on. However, he had to admit that a whole army arrayed like this would look impressive. He had been sent to Osgiliath with nineteen other men. They were supposed to be reinforcements. The blacksmith wondered what actual difference twenty men could make. He didn't like the prospect of defending Osgiliath and doubted that they could be successful in doing so.

According to rumours in Minas Tirith, the city's gates had been demolished and the walls were nothing but ruins. No one lived there anymore. The fighting was too fierce. As they drew near the city, Balian felt dismay creeping up on him. The entire city had been all but destroyed by Mordor's siege engines. There were gaping holes in the walls and rubble littered the ground. A sentry halted them, asking them what their business was. "We are reinforcements," said Balian. "Lord Denethor sent us." He produced a letter written by the Steward and addressed to Captain Faramir.

"Wait here," said the sentry. He left, no doubt to find the captain. Moments later, he returned with a younger and slighter version of Boromir in tow.

"You are the reinforcements?" said the man who had to be Faramir. "There are only twenty of you."

"This is as much as the lord Steward can spare at the moment," said Balian. He dismounted, for it seemed impolite to speak to a man of higher rank from horseback.

Faramir nodded. His grey eyes were grave. "I understand," he said, and then he observed Balian with barely hidden curiosity. "You are not from Gondor," said Boromir's brother.

"No, sir," said Balian.

"And yet, despite your dark colouring, you cannot be haradrim, for your accent does not carry the harsh quality of their tongue."

"I am not haradrim, sir." Faramir did not possess the fire and hardness of his brother, although he was just as strong, if not stronger. Boromir was the great tree that towered above all other trees in the forest. That tree would be able to withstand the buffeting of the wind, but the strongest storm would be able to topple it. Faramir was like a blade of grass, indistinguishable from all the other blades of grass unless he was observed very carefully. He would bend at the slightest of breezes, but when the breeze was gone, he would straighten again. No gale would be able to break him.

"Tell me," said Faramir, pulling him from his reverie. "What is your name?"

"Balian," he replied.

Faramir's brow creased. "Balian?" he said. "I have heard great stories about you." It was Balian's turn to be surprised.

"How do you know me, sir?" asked the blacksmith.

"Only from the words of certain travellers," said the captain meaningfully.

"I don't understand," said Balian. "Who?"

"It is a matter of secrecy," said Faramir. "I will speak with you later —in private."

The other men looked at Balian strangely, some even with jealousy. Why would the captain take so much notice of a newcomer, even one who was a friend of the Grey Pilgrim? Their stares made Balian feel slightly nervous. He did not like having too many enemies. One Guy had already caused him enough trouble.

Faramir distributed duties among the men. Balian was posted on the eastern side and was supposed to be keeping watch for orcs coming from Mordor. The water in the river was murky and grey, as if something had befouled it further upstream. Balian was surprised to learn that this was the very same river that had borne the Fellowship south after they had left Lothlorien. 'It looks so different,' he thought to himself, then it occurred to him that the elven boat bearing Boromir's body might have passed this way on its long and lonely journey to the sea. At the thought of his fallen friend, Balian's resolve to protect Gondor hardened. He had failed Boromir once. He would not do so again. So deeply was he mired in his thoughts that he did not notice he was not alone until Faramir tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sir," he said, startled. The man was as silent as an elf. As Balian turned, he armour clamoured. Faramir smiled.

"You don't have to wear that if you don't want to," he said. "I believe that men fight best if they are not weighted down."

"Then we are of the same opinion," said Balian, gratefully removing the heavy outer-wear. His fingers fumbled with the leather straps which held the pieces of metal to his body. After what seemed like some embarrassingly long moments, he was finally free.

"You know, without that armour, you look almost like one of my rangers," said Faramir.

"Your rangers, sir?" said Balian, reminding himself not to mention Aragorn until he was absolutely certain that the captain felt no hostility towards Gondor's future king. Faramir's father had not reacted too well to the name and although this did not seem to be a case of like-father-like-son, the blacksmith felt that it would be better to be careful, just in case.

"We're not real rangers," said Faramir. "Those men patrol the areas outside Gondor, although a few have served under my father and his ancestors. No, we just imitate a group to which the great Captain Thorongil belonged. He led many successful skirmishes against the forces of darkness. I only wish that I could have met him."

"What was this Thorongil like?" said Balian, overcome by curiosity. He might be able to learn a thing or two about successful skirmishes.

"They say he was tall and noble, with eyes as grey as flint and as sharp. There are also stories which say he was strongly opposed to bathing while out in the wilds, saying that the smell of grime masked the scent of man, a most useful thing when hunting agents of the enemy. Even if he hadn't disappeared, he would most probably be retired by now. It is a pity. Gondor has need of men like him at this dark hour."

"He sounds like a great man. I wonder why no one's ever mentioned him to me before."

"You came with Mithrandir, didn't you?"

"Mith— who?"

"Gandalf. Thorongil was a good friend of Gandalf's I'm surprised he hasn't been sharing stories. Usually, the Grey Pilgrim is fond of telling tales."

"I don't actually know him well enough for him to tell me stories."

"No one knows him well enough." Faramir turned his hazel gaze on the blacksmith. "Frodo knows you well, though," said the captain. "And from what he told me, you knew my brother."

Balian nodded. "We were friends," he said. His voice was laced with sorrow as he remembered that fateful day. "And no man could've had a better friend than Boromir. But please, tell me of Frodo and Sam. Are they well?"

"I saw him off from this city, just yesterday," said Faramir. "He seemed quite well, considering the distance he has travelled and the burden that he carries —yes, I know about _it_. Stop looking at me as if I just grew horns, Balian. I am worried though, for he and Sam travel in the company of a foul creature named Gollum."

"Gollum?"

"Do you know anything about him?"

"Only that Legolas —an elven friend of mine— tried to kill him."

"That's strange. How could an elf fail to kill such a gangly thing? I have heard that Legolas of Mirkwood is the best archer in all of Middle Earth."

"I stopped him from killing Gollum. We were in Moria and I was afraid that Gollum would scream as he died and wake some unknown terror in the deep."

"That's understandable. Was Boromir with you in Moria?"

"He was. He helped to stop Legolas from… hurting me."

"I thought you said Legolas was your friend."

"He is. It's just that I stopped him from avenging his friends whose deaths had something to do with Gollum. He wasn't feeling particularly friendly at that moment.

Faramir smiled. "Tell me the rest of the story," he said. "I suspect it is highly entertaining."

Balian obliged willingly, until he reached the breaking of the Fellowship. He hesitated.

"Go on," urged Faramir.

"I'm not sure you'll want to hear this, sir," said Balian uncomfortably. Faramir looked at him closely, his keen eyes searching and searching.

"It's to do with Boromir, isn't it? Frodo hinted at that." Balian nodded. "Please," continued Faramir. There was a plaintive tone in his voice. "I need to know this. I hate not knowing what happened to Boromir."

"You need to understand that the Ring is a powerful and malignant thing that infiltrates the minds of men, offering them that which they want most and driving them mad by tempting them to take it. Its voice is seductive like a lover's. Although a great man, Boromir was still a man. The Ring was able to put thoughts into his head and control him. It made him try to take the Ring from Frodo. I intervened and we fought. I was wounded, just on the arm. I think the sight of blood brought him back to his senses, for he ceased the attack and begged for my forgiveness, which I gladly gave. And then, during a skirmish with Saruman's Uruk Hai, he took an arrow that was meant for me…" Balian paused, finding it difficult to go on. Faramir gripped his shoulder comfortingly.

"It's alright," said the dead man's brother. "That is exactly like Boromir. He would have done it for anyone. You are not to be faulted for his death."

"Sir, I…"

"Please, call me Faramir. You were my brother's friend. I'm yours."

Balian was touched by Faramir's generosity and kindness. He was definitely nothing like his father. "Thank you…Faramir."

Boromir's brother clapped him on the back. "I shall leave you to your duty, Balian, defender of the helpless."

Balian blushed. Sometimes, he wished hobbits were not so talkative.

* * *

When darkness fell, fog crept over the river like a ghostly army, infiltrating every corner of the ruined city. It veiled everything, hiding it from men's sight. Balian doubted that even the keen vision of the elves would be able to pierce this shield of water vapour. The lack of visibility made him nervous. He liked to be able to see where his enemy was coming from, if they were coming at all. Taking deep breaths of the moisture laden air did little to calm him. The shroud-like fog almost seemed to suffocate him in its eerie whiteness. It blinded him and blocked his ears. He didn't like this weather. It reminded him too much of the day his wife had hanged herself; of death.

About thirty paces of his right, he could make out the silhouette of another man, pacing as he kept a look out for the enemy. Only the occasional flashes of red from Mordor pierced this gloom, and it was not a welcome sight. The man suddenly gave a gurgling cry then fell back with an arrow in his throat. "The enemy!" shouted Balian, rushing towards the main group. All the men were armed and ready for battle.

With gestures and whispers, Faramir instructed them to set up an ambush inside the broken gate where the orcs were landing. Balian pressed himself up against the cold stone, sword in hand. He knew what Faramir was trying to do. The captain wanted to cut off groups of orcs from the main force and vanquish them cohort by cohort. The blacksmith was not so certain about the plan. Usually, it only worked if there were enough men and a gate that could be closed. They had neither.

The hardest part, however, was probably watching the orcs splash through the water and into the city. Every man felt the urge to pounce on them and give them a bloody massacre. Common sense prevailed for they knew if they leapt out too soon, it would be the orcs who would do the massacring. They waited for Faramir to give his signal, although when he did finally did indicate to them to strike, they were not fully prepared.

Balian threw himself into the melée, slicing orc heads and limbs. The hot blood was an unwelcome contrast to the bone-chilling water. He was wetter than he had been in Helms Deep and stuck in a much more difficult situation. For the first time since his arrival in Middle Earth, Balian was fighting a battle without the presence of members of the Fellowship. There was no Legolas to aid him with well-placed shots, no Gimli to take on the hordes, no Gandalf to cast spells, and no Aragorn to guard his back and Give him hope. At least there was no Guy. There was only Faramir, and the captain seemed to be losing hope, as well as the fight. To the blacksmith, this was the last stand at Jerusalem all over again; a wet and cold Jerusalem with no Salah al Din to treat with. He supposed they were lucky in a strange way. These orcs were not half as competent as Saruman's. Evidently, Sauron favoured quantity over quality. He conveniently forgot that a large army of ants could vanquish an elephant. This was not the time for such thoughts. Continuous fighting took a lot of energy and by the time dawn came, the men were exhausted.

The worst was yet to come. A loud ear-piercing screech in the sky rent the cold grey morning. Balian fought the urge to protect his ears and continued to fight. One small mistake could mean his life. He saw, rather than heard, Faramir telling them to take cover. Not really understanding, he finished off the orc he was dealing with and did as he was instructed.

Great black winged beasts, which resembled dragons from Hell, dived down and grabbed men in their swooping talons to fling them into the air. Men dropped to the ground, bleeding and broken. The spectral riders, cloaked in black, shrieked in triumph atop their fell steeds. The sound hurt Balian more than any weapon. Faramir was shouting something and signalling for the men to retreat to Minas Tirith. They did not need to be told twice. All the men, rangers and soldiers alike, mounted their horses and urged them at the quickest pace possible towards the relative safety of the White City. The terrible black riders continued to pursue them, killing more men. Just as they thought there was no hope, a white rider came out of the city to meet them.

Gandalf brandished his glowing staff like a beacon of hope, warding off the dragons and their riders with the pure white light. Balian's heart soared at the sight. Angels truly did exist, and he was certain that Gandalf was one of them. The wizard escorted them inside the city, protecting them with his mere presence. Now that the uproar of battle was over, Balian noticed that everything was strangely quiet. In fact, it was utterly silent. He frowned in confusion. Men were speaking, horses pawed at the ground, chomping at their bits. Yet, he could not hear them. Someone tugged at his sleeve. He looked down to see Pippin. The hobbit's lips were moving, but he could register no sound. Then it struck him, like a sword between the shoulder blades.

Pippin was worried when Balian did not answer his question. The man looked as if his insides had been turned into ice. The frightened hobbit ran to find Gandalf, the one who had all the answers. "Gandalf!" he said. "You've got to come. Something's wrong with Balian!" Concerned, both Gandalf and Faramir followed the hobbit to where the blacksmith stood like a statue, looking down at the flagstones.

"Balian?" said Gandalf. There was no response. The wizard touched the man's arm. He looked up. The empty expression shocked Gandalf.

"I can't hear," said Balian flatly.

* * *

**A/N:** Mwahahahahaha!!! What's going on??? Balian's lost his hearing! Love it? Hate it? Reviews! But don't kill me. 


	30. The Pieces are Moving

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas etc…not even Guy. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 30: The Pieces are Moving**

Pippin listened to Balian's declaration with some distress. Hobbits had keen hearing and he could not imagine how it would feel to spend the rest of his life without sound. He didn't think he would be able to bear it, not being able to hear the chatter and singing of his friends. Gandalf was speaking very slowly and clearly to the blacksmith so that Balian could read his lips. He accompanied his speech with gestures to make himself more understandable.

Balian focused on the movements intently with his brow creased in a frown. Not being used to this, it took a while for him to comprehend what the wizard wanted to tell him.

"I want you to come with me to the infirmary," Gandalf was saying. He expected the usual barrage of protestations but Balian just nodded and followed him.

Like the rest of Minas Tirith, the Houses of Healing were predominantly white. Many men were already there, their hurts being tended to by bustling healers in stiff white caps and aprons.

Gandalf indicated for Balian to sit on an empty bed then asked for paper and a quill. The wizard figured it would be much faster to write down what he wanted to know than to teach the man to lip-read.

'When did you first notice that you could not hear?' wrote the wizard. Balian thought for a moment.

"After coming into Minas Tirith," he said "but I think I lost my hearing before that."

'What happened before?' wrote Gandalf. Balian frowned as he tried to remember.

"The dragons, and their riders," he said. "The riders were screaming. It was so loud. That is the last thing that I can remember hearing."

Gandalf sighed inwardly in relief. This was a common affliction among soldiers who knew nothing about Nazgul. He wondered why the Gondorians had not given Balian the tonic that would have prevented it. Probably Denethor had withheld it on purpose. The Steward was not very generous towards the young man who had been Boromir's friend. 'The deafness is temporary,' he wrote. 'The screams of the Nazgul have robbed you of your hearing but only for a few days. It happens when the ears are exposed for too long to the sound.'

"Thank God," breathed the blacksmith. Gandalf patted him on the shoulder. No doubt Balian had been too occupied with the fighting to protect his ears. The man got up and they walked out of the Houses of Healing to make room for more of the wounded men.

Faramir and Pippin were waiting outside. "Is he alright?" asked Pippin as soon as he glimpsed them.

"He is fine," said Gandalf "or will be in a few days."

"Nazgul," said Faramir understandingly, wondering why the man had not been given the prevention tonic.

Balian was not concentrating on the exchange about his health and wellbeing. A flicker of light had caught his attention. From the top of the tallest tower in all of Minas Tirith, a fierce fire blazed as if hope had been kindled, driving away the gloom. "The beacons…" he said to no one in particular. His mouth was turned up in a soft smile. Aragorn would come, along with Legolas and Gimli. They would not be fighting the war alone. There was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Gandalf who was also smiling. "Yes," he said, moving his lips slowly and deliberately. "The beacons are lit. Hope is coming."

* * *

Sitting on the steps of Meduseld, Aragorn chewed on the stem of his pipe. He glanced up at the beacon on the mountain top and then leapt to his feet. The fire was blazing. Dropping his pipe, he ran up the stone steps, pushing pas anyone in his way. There was no time for courtesy. He would apologize later. The ranger shoved the doors open and burst into the middle of a discussion. There was silence as he tumbled in. He noticed his friends sitting in a corner and having a conversation with Guy. His mind was too occupied to question the absurdness of it. All eyes were fixed upon him.

"The beacons are lit!" shouted Aragorn. "Gondor calls for aid!"

Everyone turned their gazes to Théoden, waiting for his response. Not so long ago, the King had been rather reluctant to help Gondor. They needn't have worried. Théoden's sense of duty and honour prevailed. "And Rohan will answer!" he said. "Muster the Rohirrim! We ride for Gondor, and war!"

Upon hearing this, Guy visibly blanched and Legolas and Gimli grinned at each other, sharing a private joke. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at them. He had no doubt as to who the victim of their prank was. Balian's archenemy rushed out of the Hall. The ranger watched him go. "What's going on?" he asked.

"We have been conversing with Master Guy, that's all," said Legolas.

"He wanted to know more about Middle Earth," said Gimli. "So, being the kind and generous people that we are, we instructed him, free of charge."

"That still does not explain his strange behaviour," said Aragorn. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing much," said Legolas. "We told him about Mordor, and Sauron's army, although the facts and numbers might have been slightly off… and, oh, before I forget, it turns out that Gimli is an expert on the process of making and breeding orcs. He is rather creative, I might add."

"I made it all up on the spot," said the dwarf smugly. "I replaced 'elves' with 'men'. I hope you don't mind, lad."

"No offence taken," said Legolas quickly.

"I wasn't talking to you, elf."

"Will you two ever grow up?" demanded Aragorn. "It's not a good idea to frighten a comrade out of his wits right before battle."

"But we were bored!" protested Legolas. "Did you see the look on Guy's face when the King declared war on Mordor? It was priceless! Anyway, since when did _Guy_ become our comrade?"

"Since the day we found him," said Aragorn.

"I'm sure Balian will have something to say about that if he heard you," said Gimli. "Even _he _baits Guy."

"Balian is not half as potent as you two," said Aragorn. "And his actions are justified. Guy baits him more than he baits Guy."

"We were just giving the boy a hand," said Gimli defensively.

"That hapless man has no idea how to bait anyone," added Legolas fondly.

"Look," said Aragorn. "I am not going to argue with you. That would just be a futile action on my part. I need to prepare for the ride to Minas Tirith and so do you. Please, just do me a favour and don't bait Guy until _after_ the war."

* * *

Guy's hands almost trembled as he tightened the girth on Cynebald. The horse laid his ears back and snorted. Were the Rohirrim mad? How could they possibly fight an enemy as powerful and ruthless as Sauron? Well, they could, but they would all die in the process. He was not ready to die, or worse, be tortured and mutilated until he became one of those foul monsters. Try as he might, Guy could not purge the images that the elf and dwarf had put into his head with their terrible stories of the Dark Lord's might and cruelty. It never occurred to him that they might not have told him the exact truth. He was so frightened that he was almost ready to flee and risk the reputation of a coward. All around him, men were getting ready for war. Armour was being strapped on, swords were being sharpened. The clanging and scraping of metal set him on the edge and made him sick in the stomach. These idiots were riding to their deaths and taking him along with them. Even the little midget, or hobbit, or whatever they called him, was preparing for war. 'His name is Mary,' Guy reminded himself. The others became incensed when he called him 'midget', even though in Guy's opinion, Mary was not any better. For God's sake, the _hobbit_ was male.

"Stop standing there!" barked the man called Éomer. "Hurry up! We ride for war on the third day and it is two days' ride to Dunharrow." Guy found him uncouth and threatening. What sort of civilized man would have hair that long? He bit back a retort. He had a feeling that, unlike Balian's other friends, this one would not hesitate to kill him. The man's sister wasn't bad though, if only she could not wield a sword. Guy wouldn't have minded taking her to bed, except she'd probably try to castrate him if he so much as tried to touch her. Unlike Sibylla, this one would probably succeed in doing some irreversible damage.

Éomer shook his head and walked away. There was no way to know what was going on inside that man's head. He was dangerous, the Third Marshal knew that much. It would be so much easier to throttle him but the King had insisted that he be taken along. "We need every man able to ride and bear arms," Théoden had said. Éomer had replied that they would be doing the man a favour if they left him behind. The man looked as if he wanted to run instead of fight. Now Éowyn was an entirely different matter, although she was no less trouble. His sister had begged him to let her fight alongside the men. He had refused, of course, and now she was not speaking to him. It was all Théodred's fault really.

When both of them had been children, their cousin had trained Éowyn in the skills of battle, and had told her that she could probably hold her own against any of the boys. Théodred might have passed on but his legacy was very much alive. Éomer hoped that by the time the men were to ride for Gondor, Éowyn would come to her senses and resign herself to the task of guarding Edoras. Somehow, he just couldn't see it happening.

* * *

Balian spent his convalescence wandering around the city. Even here, the stories of his ventures had spread. People nodded to him in greeting as he walked through the streets. Although complete silence was alien to him, it was not unpleasant in any way, now that he knew it was temporary.

Through his explorations, he had found the other side of life in Minas Tirith. There was much poverty in the lower levels, especially around the back of the city, where it could not be easily seen. There were establishments of debatable morality and more than once he had been invited into them, only he had declined as politely as possible. There, in the dark corners, beggars lurked, reaching out filthy skeletal hands for alms. Some of the emaciated vagabonds had tried to surround him to force him to give them the money, but they had retreated when he reached for his sword.

Here, the stones were so stained with filth that they were no longer white but slimy and dark. Piles of refuse littered the sides of the streets. No light reached these places. As he walked past them, it seemed as if tendrils of darkness and despair reached out to grab him. The people who lived there watched as he passed. The whites of their eyes were the only things that gleamed as they took in his garb and especially the ruby in the hilt of his sword.

'I shall tell Aragorn of this when he comes,' thought Balian. 'As King, he will do something to dispel this darkness, or else he is Aragorn.'

Even in the more prosperous parts of the city, anxiety weighed down on everyone, casting a shadow on their lives. With the fall of Osgiliath, there was nothing between Minas Tirith and Mordor save for a vast expanse of flat land in the form of the Fields of Pelennor. They could be easily conquered. Already, the dark cloud of Mordor was spreading its shadow westward. The blacksmith regarded it, deep in thought. The war, the real war, was about to begin and it seemed that Gondor's last stand would be at Minas Tirith. Even now, Denethor could not seem to accept this. The deranged steward had proposed, and ordered, a suicidal move. Earlier that day, Balian had been among the crowds on the streets as they bade farewell to the troops. Faramir, now in armour, had led a contingent of two hundred men out of the city in a futile attempt to reclaim Osgiliath.

Due to his temporary deafness, Balian had been exempted by Denethor —courtesy of Gandalf— and both the wizard and Faramir had explicitly ordered him to stay in the city. The crowds had thrown flowers into the path of the soldiers, knowing in their hearts that most of those men would never come home again. It had been a sombre, almost funereal, procession. So many sons and brothers and fathers to be sacrificed to a lost cause. It made Balian feel sick at heart. This was just like the march to Hattin, a move that he had spoken up against. It seemed as if there would be another massacre, just like Hattin.

The whiteness of the city reflected the emptiness of its citizens' hearts. They had lost hope.High above in the sky, crows and other carrion eating birds reeled, cawing harshly. It seemed as if even the beasts knew. Balian started. He could hear again. His hearing had returned as suddenly as it had gone. He knew he should be rejoicing, but all he could feel was anxiety for Faramir and his troops. Pushing his way through the throng of human bodies, he made his way to the wall of the fifth level and peered out across the fields. There, alone as a few boats lost on a sea of dark grass, were Faramir and his men riding to their doom. The small silver shapes looked so small, so helpless. The captain had arranged his men into two lines. The ominous shape of the broken Osgiliath lay before them, tainted by darkness. Soon, the Gondorians were within range of the orcs' bows.

The blacksmith's heart hammered against his ribs as if demanding to be let out. He gripped the wall so hard that his knuckles were as white as the stone and the hard edges dug into his hands, making imprints. Try as he might, Balian could not tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him. Everything happened as if time had slowed until it was as thick and sluggish as syrup, allowing the young man to take in every tormenting detail. The silver figures fell from their steeds to lie still on the plain. No one was spared. One of them, his foot still in the stirrup, was dragged away by his terrified steed into the distance. Then, once the men were down, orcs swarmed out of Osgiliath like a dark wave of pestilence and overwhelmed the silver bodies. When the wave retreated, the bodies were gone, as if they had been washed away by the foul tide.

Balian's hands went slack. Faramir was lost. Made numb by grief, he charged through the crowds to prepare for battle. With Gondor's captain gone, Mordor would be ready to strike.

* * *

Many Rohirrim riders had already gathered at Dunharrow when the King's company arrived. Guy was unimpressed. The entire force was small and disorganized, unlike his own army which had been lost at Hattin. Men and horses were everywhere. The King's company made camp higher up on a plateau which was backed by stiff stone cliffs. A path led into the mountains behind them. It made Guy's skin crawl. There was something out there, something which he did not know and could not see, and that frightened him more than anything. Even the horses and the other men shied from it, so the former king could assure himself that there was really something wrong and that he was not a coward.

Guy had been left to erect the tent which he was to share with the other members of the Fellowship while Legolas and Gimli tended to their mounts. Aragorn was with the King, discussing tactics and strategies. "I wish I had an army of dwarves, fully armed and filthy," said Gimli as he smoked and watched Legolas check the hooves of the horses for rocks and other irritants.

"Your kinsmen may have no need to ride to war," said the elf sadly. "I fear that war already marches on their own lands." He was not talking about the dwarves only. For years, his people had fought off the darkness that threatened to engulf their home. His mind often wandered back to his beloved forest, wondering how his people were faring.

Gimli blew out a cloud of smoke. His eyes were worried. "I'm going to find Aragorn," he said, getting up. "That lad has been away for long enough."

* * *

That night, Guy slept fitfully, assailed by dreams. In his nightmares, the path that led into the mountains became the path that led into Hell. When he woke for the tenth time, panting and sweating, he gave up on rest, dressed and went outside, only to see Legolas and Gimli saddling their horse.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"With Aragorn," said the elf curtly, not looking up.

"Why?"

"Because he's going to find an army and he's not going without us," said Gimli. "It's none of your business anyway."

"Oh yes it is," said Guy, quickly readying Cynebald. "You're not fleeing from the battle without me, that's for sure. Do you really take me for a simpleton?"

Legolas and Gimli looked at each other in exasperation. They had hoped to escape Guy as well as help Aragorn. Then Legolas' eyes took on an all too familiar gleam. An idea had formed in the elf's sharp mind.

"Fine, come with us if you want," he said. "Why should I care?"

It would be most interesting to see how the arrogant bastard would react to the Paths of the Dead.

* * *

**A/N:** For those of you who were a bit confused last time, Balian's deafness was caused by the Nazguls' screaming. And did you really think that I would leave him deaf forever? I love him too much to do that to him. A few chapters before, I promised compensation to those who wanted to put Balian through the Paths of the Dead. Here it is…someone else in Balian's place. By the way, does anyone know anything about Hattin? Not the battle but the place. I'm doing a project on the battle site and I need all the help that I can get. Please review and tell me what you think! 


	31. The Second Wave

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, etc. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of putting them back, savvy?

**Chapter 31: The Second Wave**

As the army of Mordor approached the White City, the people flew into frenzy. They needed someone to lead them, to tell them what to do. Gondor had lost two of its most prestigious commanders. One was in the Halls of Mandos and the other was missing. In the midst of this chaos, one man, not in the military garb of Gondor, was giving orders without the Steward's consent, instructing the men to set up the trebuchets and to gather rocks and blocks of wood to use as projectiles.

Balian positioned archers above the gates and told the Gondorians to fill jars of flammable liquids, as he had done in Jerusalem. Being in need of a commander, the men did as he instructed. As they prepared for a long and hard siege, there was a shout and before Balian could say anything, the gates were opened. One rider-less horse came in, dragging the seemingly lifeless body of Faramir behind it. Like Boromir, the Steward's younger son had been pierced by an orc arrow.

"He still lives," said Balian, putting a hand beneath the man's nose and feeling his breath on his fingers. "Take him to the Houses of Healing, and close they gates!" A stretcher was brought out and Faramir was gently transferred onto it. The men carried him up to the Houses of Healing, which was located on the same level as the Citadel. No doubt Denethor would find out about his son's predicament soon enough. Balian did not want to know how the man who had sent Faramir to his doom would react. Moments later, Denethor's voice rang out across the battlements.

"Abandon your posts!" shouted the deranged Steward. "Flee! Flee for your lives!"

"No!" cried Balian as some men started to run. "Stay at your stations! We defend the city, or there will be no hope!" Some of them hesitated and remained where they were. Others fled, flinging down weapons as they did so. Balian, once more the defender of a city in peril, looked at his men. They were frightened and desperate, in need of encouragement. He took a breath.

"It has fallen to us to defend this city," he began "and we have made our preparations as well as they can be made. We fight, not to protect these stones, but the people living within these walls! When that gate comes down, and the walls are breached, there will be no quarter. If you throw down your arms, you families will die." He looked each of the men in the eye. They all met his gaze. "We can break this army here!" he said slowly and clearly, articulating every word. "So I say: Let them come! Let them come! Come on! We'll show them what the men of Gondor are truly made out of!"

The men cheered, raising their voices and weapons in an act of defiance against those who would destroy them. In the distance, orc horns and drums answered the challenge. The battle had begun.

* * *

The hollow sound of horses' hooves on rock echoed through the valley. The vastness magnified the sound. The wind whistled eerily through the gaps in the rocks. Guy shivered, and it wasn't because of the chilly draughts. Everything was grey. Grey rock, grey sky, grey cloaks on his companions. Even the horse in front of him was grey. The man was getting quite sick of the colour. 

"What sort of army would linger in here?" demanded Gimli in a loud whisper as if he did not want to disturb whatever it was that lurked in this valley.

"One that is cursed," answered Legolas, sending a shudder down Guy's spine and making his imagination run rampant. "Long ago, the Men of the Mountains swore an oath to the last King of Gondor to come to his aid; to fight. But when the time came, when Gondor's need was dire, they fled vanishing into the darkness of the mountain. And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they had fulfilled their pledge." With that the elf began to recite:

"_Who shall call them from the grey twilight, _

_the forgotten people? _

_The heir of him to whom the oath they swore._

_From the North shall he come. _

_Need shall drive him. _

_He shall pass the door to the Paths of the Dead."_

He finished and fell silent.

"The what?" said a horror-stricken Guy. "The paths of what?"

No one answered him. The horses had stopped and refused to go any further. Aragorn and Legolas dismounted and the elf helped Gimli out of the saddle. The two men and the elf looped the reins over the horses' heads and dragged them in the right direction. Legolas whispered soothing words to calm their fears. Guy made the sign against the evil eye. This had to be pagan magic. The animals came reluctantly, ears laid back and nickering nervously. The elf's voice did nothing to help calm Guy down. The man had heard that some voice not so long ago speaking of the horrors of Mordor.

The little company stopped in front of a stone archway which led into the dark cavernous womb of the mountains where unspeakable horrors waited to burst forth. Guy made the sign of the cross. "Lord, save us," he whispered. The archway was decorated with real skulls of men and heathen symbols carved into the rock or painted on. He did not know what they meant and he was not interested in finding out.

"The way is shut," said Legolas, looking at the symbols. "It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it. The way is shut." An eerie ominous wind that was almost like a voice issued forth from the archway as if to prove that the elf was right. The horses reared and bolted. No persuasive elven voice would be able to coax them into that place. Guy's face drained of blood and beside him, Gimli lifted his axe a little and gripped the shaft tighter.

"Do we _have_ to go in there?" whispered Guy. His question went ignored. He took it as a yes. The man looked longingly back in the direction that the horses had gone. He would've liked to go with them but he did not know his way out. The ranger had led them through so many twists and turns.

"I do not fear death," said Aragorn, stepping forward and disappearing into the overwhelming darkness. Legolas glanced back at the other two then followed him. His form was soon claimed by shadow.

"Well, here is a thing unheard of!" said Gimli almost despairingly. "An elf would go underground where a dwarf dare not. Oh, I'll never hear the end of this." With that, he dashed through the archway, driven on by his pride. Guy was alone. The eerie silence enveloped him, crushing him in its embrace. The man decided that it would be better to confront horrors with someone watching his back than to starve to death alone. Muttering the Lord's Prayer, he followed these mad people that he had come to rely on.

* * *

The armies of Mordor flung great missiles of rock and fire at the walls of Minas Tirith. The Gondorians retaliated by throwing missiles of their own but nothing seemed to lessen the waves or orcs surging at the city and wearing down the defence bit by bit. Although the enemy relied more on numbers than anything, Balian had to admit that throwing the severed heads of the prisoners taken from that disastrous charge on Osgiliath had been a stroke of twisted genius. The men's morale had been at least halved. 

"Fire!" he shouted at the men at the trebuchets. Lit jars of flammable liquid were launched. They shattered as they landed, sending the burning substances splattering everywhere. Balian leapt out of the way just as a chunk of rock flew past him, almost crushing him. Gandalf was in charge of defences at another section of the wall where the orcs were parking their siege towers. The blacksmith had no time to think about it as siege towers targeting his own section were being pushed into place by trolls. One Gondorian missile hit a siege tower, sending it toppling onto its side. The orcs snarled and responded with a volley of arrows. 'Aragorn, where are you?' wondered Balian as he signalled to the archers to fire back.

High-pitched screams rent the air. Balian winced but he had taken the prevention tonic so there was no chance of him becoming deaf again. "Fire!" he shouted. "Shoot the dragons' bellies!" He had no idea whether this was the way to do it or not, but when he had been a small boy, his mother had told him stories about knights and princes slaying dragons and the like. The heroes always killed the monsters by striking at their soft underbellies.

The archers aimed and fired but the dragons and their riders were out of range. They swooped down on the trebuchets, dismantling them and flinging the splintered bits of wood everywhere. The riders seemed to recognize who the commander was. Balian ducked and flattened himself against the flagstones just as one of the dragons tried to grab him with outstretched talons. The blacksmith cried out and cursed in agony as a black claw ripped open his chainmail and tore the flesh on his back. The men flung spears and shot arrows at the beast, driving it away.

Balian scrambled to his feet and ran back to the wall where orcs were spewing out from a siege tower and onto the battlements. The man wished he had the small jars of oil which could be lit and thrown by hand. However, they had not had the time to make them. He blocked a blow with his sword and then gutted his opponent. His wound burned with hot fire and he bit back a groan as movement aggravated it. Another three orcs engaged him in combat. He wondered whether they would be able to last until Rohan came to their aid.

* * *

Thick grey fog swirled about their bodies, striving to drown them. Guy fancied that he could feel insubstantial fingers groping at him and clawing at his clothes. He shuddered at the cold clammy touch and focused on the light of Aragorn's torch. The prayers he was murmuring under his breath did nothing to reassure him. Legolas' claim that he could see the shapes of men and horses in the fog chilled his bones. Guy gripped the hilt of his sword tightly as if the blade could defend him against metaphysical foes. If there was a hell then this must surely be it. 

There was a crunching noise ahead of him. "Do not look down," hissed Aragorn. Morbid curiosity proved to be too much for Gimli and Guy. They glanced down at their feet. Skulls carpeted the floor of the tunnel. Guy cursed. He wished he had listened to the ranger.

"Can we get out of here?" whispered the former king. Gimli, who had been thinking more or less the same thing, quickly banished the thought from his head. The four of them entered a large empty underground gallery. A sinister figure that was glowing with unnatural green light stood at the centre. His clothes and hair were being blown by a phantom wind. There was a rich helmet on his head. A closer inspection revealed that he was transparent. Scraps of half-rotted flesh dangled from his ghostly bones and his eyes were corrupted by decay. Guy's scream died in his throat. He was seeing the dead. He began to mutter the rosary rapidly.

"Who dares to enter my domain?" asked the spectre slowly. His voice was strong and malicious for someone who did not possess a physical body.

"One who would have your allegiance," said Aragorn.

"The dead do not suffer the living to pass," said the ghost lord.

"You will suffer me," said the ranger. The spectre laughed at that statement. A glowing green city with legions of ghostly men materialized before their eyes and surrounded the four living beings. Guy's hands were slick with sweat. His eyes flicked everywhere nervously, seeking an escape. There was none. They were trapped inside this great stone tomb of thousands.

"The way is shut," said the ghost lord, repeating Legolas' words that the elf had uttered not so long before. "It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it." The apparitions closed in on them. "Now you must die." Guy did everything he could think of to ward them off. He muttered prayers, invoked saints and even brandished a small wooden cross made from the wood of the Holy Rood. Nothing worked.

Legolas released an arrow from his bow. It passed through the ghost lord's head with no effect and clattered on the rock somewhere far away. Guy's knees felt weak.

"I summon you to fulfil your oath," said Aragorn, drawing his sword. Through his haze of fear, Balian's rival noticed something different about the weapon.

"None but the King of Gondor may command me!" growled the spectre, hefting his unearthly weapon to strike at the insolent man who had dared to order him to do something. Aragorn blocked the blow with his blade, reached out the grip the wraith's throat then put the sword to his neck. If it had not been for his blind terror, Guy would have seen the significance of this action. Instead of passing through the ghost as it should have done, Aragorn's hand encircled the insubstantial throat and held it, slowly throttling the phantom even though it was impossible to kill the ghost lord again. "That blade was broken!" gasped the spectre.

"It has been remade," said Aragorn. A new sort of power rang in his voice. Legolas smiled in pride. Estel of Rivendell had grown up. He had come into his inheritance. "Fight for me," continued the future King "and I will hold your oaths fulfilled. What say you?"

'Wait,' thought Guy as the pieces of the puzzle arranged themselves in his mind. 'These cursed things swore an oath to the last King of Gondor and they need to fulfil it before they can rest in peace. Here is this man saying he will hold their oaths fulfilled if they fight for him, so this makes the filthy ranger…' Guy's eyebrows flew to his hairline.

_Aragorn_ was the King. Aragorn was _the _King. Aragorn was the _King_.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" he whispered. "This can't be possible…" No one heard him. The ghost lord had started laughing again. He and his army were fading into nothingness.

"What say you?" Aragorn was shouting. "Fight for me, and I will release you from this living death! You have my word!"

"Stand, you traitors!" roared Gimli even as the last of them disappeared. "Gah!" spat the dwarf in disgust. "You're wasting your time with them, Aragorn. They had no honour in life; they have none now in death."

A cracking noise caught their attention. The four of them turned. The walls of the gallery were rupturing and a torrent of skulls came cascading down. For a while, shock robbed them of movement and speech. "Out!" Aragorn finally said. The four of them ran for their lives as the torrent of bones threatened to crush and drown them.

Being the lightest, Legolas was swept off his feet by the force of the flood. For a moment, he felt as if he was drowning in a sea of bones. The musty smell of old decay and death was almost overwhelming. He tried to fight his way to the top. The elf feared being trapped in small dark places and being buried alive was his worst nightmare. Above the din, he heard someone calling his name. 'Estel,' he thought. The stubborn human would never leave without him. Legolas concentrated all his energy into digging himself out of this improvised grave. A gauntleted hand was reaching down. He grabbed it and Gimli hoisted him out of the pile of human remains.

"Stupid elf," said the dwarf without conviction. "This isn't the time to go swimming."

"Afraid to get wet, master dwarf?" said Legolas as they ran for the opening. Guy was already outside. His face was as white as the foam which crowned the waves as they crashed into the shore. As they scrambled clear of the cavern, dust issued from the opening. Aragorn looked down at the estuary where the Anduin flowed into the sea. Black ships were sailing upriver towards Gondor like a pack of predatory beasts closing in for a kill. The king-to-be sank to his knees in despair. How was he to save his kingdom without the aid of the phantom army?

Legolas put his hand on the man's shoulder to offer what comfort he could. The elf could see the end approaching with those ships. It was like the game he had played as an elfling where tall blocks were lined up in a row and one was pushed over to start a chain reaction. Gondor would fall first, then Rohan, then all the elven realms and finally the Shire and even the Grey Havens would topple to Sauron's might. All the deaths of the men, elves and dwarves who had fallen while fighting for freedom would have been in vain.

Just as they were about to go on to Gondor alone and on foot, the ghost lord materialized behind them. "We fight," he said.

* * *

A wave of dizziness seized him, almost making him stumble. Balian shook his head to clear it. He could not afford to falter. Gondor was relying on him and Gandalf. He had failed Boromir once and he had promised that it would not happen again. Even if it cost him his life, Minas Tirith would remain standing. The orcs had fallen back for a moment, giving the men some reprieve. It was almost nightfall. Maybe the enemy had decided to rest, but the blacksmith doubted it. 

Moments later, the enemy returned, more numerous than ever. Trolls were pushing the largest and strangest-looking war machine he had ever seen. The main component was shaped like a wolf's head with fire burning in its mouth. The trolls pulled back the wolf's head and then released it. The wolf's burning snout smashed into the gates. The impact shook the entire city. "God, help us," whispered Balian. "It's a battering ram." It was unlike any battering ram that he had ever seen.

He shivered; it was cold and yet, he was sweating profusely. It was as if icy tendrils had wrapped themselves around his bones. The man forced his discomfort to the back of his mind then went to rally the defenders above the gate. They shot arrows and threw spears at the trolls who manned the battering ram. Each time they felled one beast, another replaced it. Mordor seemed to have an endless supply of them. Night had fallen. The gate had withstood an afternoon of heavy assault. It was slowly coming off its hinges. They knew it wouldn't last much longer. At the lowest level, Gandalf was delivering a speech to the troops, encouraging them to stand firm no matter what came through the gates once they came down.

The trolls swung the battering ram one last time. There was creaking and splintering. Balian knew that the gates hand given away. Soon the men from the first level would need to retreat to the second and then, who knew what would happen?

* * *

Guy stood at the prow of the ship as it glided along with fifty others towards Gondor. The sails were full and phantom oarsmen rowed methodically and silently. He felt as if he was King again. He certainly looked the part, unlike that scruffy man who was to be to King of Gondor. 

The others were on another ship adjacent to his. None of them had wanted to share with Guy. The elf stood in the crow's nest, staring at the wailing gulls. His lips were moving and although the wind drowned out his voice, Guy knew he was singing. The elf was always singing one song or another. 'Maybe he's the King's minstrel,' thought the man.

* * *

Balian leaned against a wall as he waited for yet another bout of dizziness to pass. They were coming more frequently now, these attacks of light-headedness and nausea. He didn't know what had caused them. The man cursed his untimely affliction. Gandalf had gone somewhere with Pippin, leaving him in charge of all the defences. Something was happening and it was to do with the Steward and his son. 

The blacksmith beckoned to Beregond, one of the few lieutenants left in Gondor. Balian had knighted him and many others, but Beregond actually had some experience in battle. "Sir Balian?" said Beregond. The Gondorian could see that there was something wrong with the foreigner who was paler than usual. Sweat shone on his brow. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," said Balian quickly. "Supervise the men on the wall. Use our remaining trebuchets to hit their catapults if possible. I'm going down to the gate." Without waiting for Beregond to respond, he left. The Gondorian fancied that he was a deep long wound on the other man's back but duty called and he promptly forgot about the commander's predicament as the enemy flung balls of flaming material at them.

* * *

Dawn. Balian was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to collapse where he was and close his eyes. He knew that he couldn't. The survival of Gondor depended on this battle. Most of their trebuchets had been destroyed, either by the black dragons or the enemy's catapults. The two lowest regions were aflame. All the civilians had fled to the upper levels. Casualties were high. The orcs could afford it. They could not. Gondor's supply of able-bodied men was almost depleted. He estimated that they had lost at least half. 

The new day brought with it no new hope as far as he could see. Just when he was ready to fall into despair, a clear horn call sounded above the din of battle. He recognized that horn. Rohan had come. "Come on!" he shouted hoarsely to the men. "Our comrades from Rohan have come! We will crush these foul beasts of Mordor into the dust!"

* * *

_**Stay tuned…**_

_**WHAT IF…**_

ALL PROBLEMS THAT AROSE, ENSUED, WERE **NOT** OVERCOME

**Jack Sparrow: (**_eyes wide)_ Bugger.

_**WHAT IF…**_

THINGS **DIDN'T** GO ACCORDING TO PLAN?

_The __**Black Pearl**__ and the __**Flying Dutchman**__ are stuck high up on a barren island of rock beyond the reach of the tide._

AND PEOPLE WHO WERE NOT MEANT TO MEET…

_Balian, Hector, Legolas and Will raise their cups in a salute to each other. _

MET.

**DANGER AND INTRIGUE LURKS IN EVERY CORNER…**

_Calchas, the High Priest of Troy, turns to show his face. _

_The light from torches cast shadows on the wall of two men stabbing someone. _

**HISTORY WILL BE CHANGED…**

_Balian leads the Trojan cavalry in a charge._

_Achilles and Balian's blades meet._

**CONFUSION WILL REIGN…**

**Will:** Huh?

**Hector: **What?

**Balian:** Excuse me?

_Legolas raises an eyebrow. _

**Jack: **What?

**Menelaus: (**_snappy tone) _What?

**Achilles: **What?

_**From the author of CHANCE ENCOUNTER comes**_

**CHANCE ENCOUNTER: PIRATE KINGDOM OF TROY**

_**COMING SOON TO FF-NET **_

_**(PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN SECTION)**_

**A/N: **I'm not going to say anything about that little ad up there. You'll find out more soon enough. Can anyone guess what's wrong with Balian? Virtual chocolate will be handed out next week to people who guess rightly. I can't believe we're fast approaching the end! Please review!


	32. Convalescence

**Chance Encounter**

_Congratulations to **Estel Ashlee Snape, MoonlitPuddle, Nelarun **and **XinnLajgin **for guessing correctly (or very close to correctly) what was wrong with Balian. You guys get virtual chocolates. Well done for those of you who actually tried to guess. There were some fascinating ideas _:D

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Balian, Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, etc. I don't even own Guy, not that I want to own him. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy? 

**Chapter 32: Convalescence **

Legolas gazed towards Minas Tirith. The battle was well underway; with the Rohirrim's arrival, Gondor seemed to have a chance of winning. The ships slowed down as they drew near the western shore. Orcs came forward to greet them, thinking they were corsairs from Umbar. From his vantage point, the elf was hidden from the orcs' line of sight. He gazed down at the foul creatures with disgust. One of them had a human skull melded to his head and was wearing it like a hat.

"Late as usual, pirate scum!" he snarled. Legolas recognized him as the leader of this scraggly group. "There's knife work here that needs doing!"

'He probably wears the skull to increase his diminutive height,' thought the elf.

"Come on, you sea-rats!" continued the orc. "Get off your ships!"

Legolas waited for Aragorn's signal. Upon hearing the man's infuriated roar followed by the dwarf's, he realized that the king-to-be had forgotten to give it. He took a flying leap from the crow's nest and landed neatly on his feet. His keen elven hearing picked up the sound of Guy scrambling down a hastily set up gangplank.

The orcs were too shocked to move. Legolas wondered jokingly if they could even register that nothing was going according to plan. Of course they would, but the elf couldn't help but snicker at his private joke. Aragorn charged at them and the orcs sneered at the ridiculous human until something coming from the ship wiped the gleeful expression from their faces and sent them fleeing.

* * *

Balian hacked his way through the hordes. He noticed that there were fewer orcs attempting to breach the walls. Most of them were too occupied with fighting off the Rohirrim. He shook his head and blinked several times to clear his vision. The light of the day hurt his eyes and he wondered if he was becoming a vampire. He had heard stories which said that vampires feared the light. His bones ached and his entire body felt weak. He was shivering so much that it was becoming difficult to grip his sword. He felt cold, and the searing heat of his back wound was a painful contrast. Only determination kept him upright and fighting. The last thing the men of Gondor needed was to see their commander fall. 

An orc slammed into him, knocking him into the stonework. Stars exploded in his vision and he very nearly didn't manage to block a blow that would have cleaved his head from his shoulders. He ducked and rolled. Keeping this up was becoming very taxing indeed. Minas Tirith would survive. He just hoped that he would too.

* * *

A green flood swept across the Fields of Pelennor, climbing over the bodies of the fallen fighters and overwhelming the ragged remnants of the enemy. It surged into the city, quenching the fires in the lower levels. Aragorn, King of Gondor, stood victorious in the middle of the battlefield with his friends beside him. Guy was striking a convincing pose on top of a dead mumak, pretending that he killed it. 

Aragorn faced his army of phantoms. "Release us," demanded the ghost lord.

"Bad idea," whispered Gimli rather audibly. "Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact they're dead."

The ghost lord glared at the dwarf who paled a bit but remained staunch, then he looked back to Aragorn. "You gave us your word!" he said, outraged.

"I hold your oath fulfilled," said Aragorn. "Go; be at peace." There was an otherworldly wind. The ghosts sighed blissfully as they were taken up to the Halls of Mandos. Gimli snorted in defeat.

Gandalf came out of the city, a smile on his face. He bowed in deference to Aragorn who seemed a little uncomfortable about the whole business of being King. He surveyed to the carnage. Many lives had been lost. Legolas and Gimli were once again calculating their scores. He could hear them squabbling about how much Legolas' mumak was worth.

Balian stumbled out to greet his friends. His vision was growing blurry and unfocused. Partly through the gate, he fell onto one knee. The man tried to rise again by using his sword for support. He was shaking so badly that the weapon clattered to the ground. His body felt as if it was encased in ice, except for his wound which burned him with its heat. The world reeled, then faded...

Legolas saw the man fall. "Aragorn!" he shouted, catching the King's attention. Guy took this all in from his vantage point on the fallen mumak. Hope surged in his heart. Maybe there was a chance that Balian would die after all, and he didn't even have to do anything to instigate it.

Aragorn was beside the fallen man in a moment. Balian's skin was cold and clammy to the touch, although his brow burned with fever. He looked pale, almost translucent, like wax. Aragorn felt for the man's pulse on his neck. It was weak and irregular.

"What's wrong with him?" said Legolas.

"Morgul poison," said Aragorn. "Legolas, help me get him inside. He needs to go to the Houses of Healing immediately.

The elf wondered what protestations Balian would have come up with if he had been awake. Then he wondered whether the man would wake. He looked so close to death, as if he was already crossing over the threshold to greet his dead wife and child.

They carried him on a makeshift stretcher hastily put together with spears and the fallen standards of the enemy. They quickly melded into a flood of people carrying the wounded up to the Houses of Healing. Some of the injured men were beyond saving.

The Houses of Healing were filled to the brim. It was with some difficulty that Aragorn and Legolas found a bed for their sick friend. Aragorn, ever the healer, divested Balian of his outer layers of clothing and inspected his body for wounds. The source of his illness was a long ugly wound down the man's back. The flesh around the wound was festering and burning, but the rest of the man's body was as cold as a corpse.

"I need athelas," said Aragorn. Before Legolas could go off in search of the herb, Éomer burst in, looking absolutely distraught.

"Aragorn! Éowyn, she's..." began the Rohirrim warrior. The last word stuck in his throat.

"I'll come and look at her," said Aragorn gently, rising to his feet. He turned to Legolas. "Keep him warm. If he takes a turn for the worse, get me immediately."

"I will," said Legolas. "And the athelas?"

"I will ask the herbmaster for it myself."

The two men left, leaving Legolas alone with Balian. The man moaned softly in his troubled dreams. He seemed to be mumbling 'help me' over and over again desperately. It pained Legolas to see him thus. In all the time that he had known the young blacksmith, he had never heard the man beg for help in such a manner.

"It's alright, mellon-nin," said Legolas. The elf's voice seemed to calm the man and he became quiet again. "You're safe. Everything's fine. You don't need to be afraid; I'm here, my young friend. Nothing can hurt you."

_His wife, his dear Jocelyn, hung from the rafters of their house. The body had long gone stiff with cold. He was shouting, screaming. Help me! Help me! Someone! Someone! Please help! He cut her down and cradled the icy body against him. Wake up. Wake up, my love. Don't do this. __**Please**__ don't do this to me. I need you...He didn't know how long he sat there, holding her close in his embrace, as if his love and his own warmth could somehow bring back her life. Her beautiful eyes were wide open and empty. He couldn't bear to look at them. He could remember how they had laughed and shone when he had courted her. He knew that it was somehow his fault. It had to be. Jocelyn was sinless, an angel. It was his fault. God was punishing him for his sins, for being a bastard. They said that bastards couldn't have children. They were right. He had never deserved Jocelyn, never deserved their son. And now, both of them had been taken away, and it was his fault that they would never see heaven. _

_Despair engulfed him until everything around him was swallowed by darkness. He was lost, afraid. He had never been so afraid. Then a voice came through to him, like a sign from heaven. A sign that God still cared. "...You don't need to be afraid; I'm here, my young friend. Nothing can hurt you..."_

'_But what about my son?' he wanted to say. 'And my wife?'_

_There was no answer, but the voice had given him hope. Somewhere, out there, someone cared. And for a man who had known the face of rejection for most of his life, it was enough. _

Legolas watched as Balian stilled, except for the constant shivering. "Come on," he said. "You have to wake up soon. Your charges are waiting for you back in Rohan, and they'll hate you if you die, Nanny Balian."

'_...Nanny Balian...' He hated that name. "I'm going to get you for this, Legolas," he thought._

Legolas saw the man tense, even though he was unconscious. The elf chuckled fondly. "I know you hate that name," he said "but if you want to get even with me, you have to wake up first."

* * *

Aragorn returned, feeling troubled. He had seen more than just Éowyn. The Shieldmaiden, Faramir and Merry seemed to be suffering from more or less the same affliction as the blacksmith. He could cure it if he had athelas but after having listened to a long speech from the herbmaster concerning the properties of the plant, he found that there was none in stock. 

"How is he?" he asked Legolas.

"No better, no worse," said the elf. "He's fighting it. I think he's been having nightmares. He was moaning not so long ago, but he quietened down when I spoke to him." Legolas smiled. "He tensed when I called him Nanny Balian."

"He won't thank you for it," said Aragorn.

"But it suits!"

* * *

Night fell. They were about to expect the worst when a boy rushed in. In his hand he carried six dried leaves of athelas lying on a cloth. "My lord," he gasped. His young face was drawn with worry. "Is this enough? This is all we can find." 

Aragorn smiled and took the herbs almost reverently. "It will do," he said. "Thank you."

The boy bowed hurriedly and left the room. Legolas swore he could see a blush blooming

Aragorn worked quickly, crushing one of the precious leaves and casting it into a basin of hot water. The fresh pure scent of athelas filled the room, and Balian seemed to breathe more easily. Aragorn cut away the most corrupted flesh from the edges of the wound, glad that the younger man was unconscious. He bathed the wound with the athelas-steeped water and bound it with clean linen bandages. Already, the blacksmith's colour was returning and he had stopped shivering. His breathing was shallow, but regular. The King of Gondor left Legolas watching over Balian and went to tend to the others.

Gimli came in to join his elven friend in keeping vigil. "How's the wee laddie?" he asked.

"Getting better," said the elf. "This one's a fighter."

"With friends like us, how can he not be? I hope he wakes up soon. I need him to be the judge and decide who won this round."

The man in question shifted, then slowly opened tired eyes. "I shall definitely not involve myself in your mad debates," he croaked.

Gimli and Legolas grinned. "Oh, but you must guide us young ones, Nanny Balian," said Gimli.

"I'm going to get you both for this," murmured Balian as his eyes slowly closed again. He fell into a deep healing sleep. Legolas placed the back of his hand against the man's forehead to test the temperature. It was almost back to normal. He sighed in relief.

"Yes, my friend," whispered Legolas. "I'll hold you to it."

* * *

The next few days passed in a blur for Balian. He was asleep for most of the time and his few waking moments merged with his dreams. His dreams were filled with impossible pranks that could be played on the elf and dwarf. Somehow, Gimli and Legolas always emerged victorious. 

On the fourth day, Balian finally shook off his dreams. He felt weakened, yet refreshed. Faint, dying sunlight filtered into the room. The days were growing darker. The other patients were either sleeping or out walking in the gardens. The young man glanced about him. Seeing no healers in the vicinity, he pushed himself up with much difficulty and waited for his vision to focus before swinging his bare feet over the edge of the bed. His boots were nowhere to be found. He was wearing a long white tunic which reached below his knees and loose trousers like those of the Saracens. His face flushed a little at the thought of someone else dressing him.

He padded through the long white corridors, holding onto the walls for support. What he would have done without thinking twice while he was hale was proving to be a great effort for a man in ill health. After what seemed like a lifetime of wandering through the maze of the Houses of Healing, he found the entrance to the gardens. With one last burst of energy, he made his way to a stone bench. He could not help but congratulate himself for having performed such a feat as getting outdoors all by himself without being caught by a healer. What he did not know was that someone had been watching him.

The blacksmith was startled when he heard soft laughter behind him. "I see that you possess the same tendency as Aragorn to elude healers and their instructions."

"No one told me anything about staying abed and boring myself to death," said Balian. "Have you been aware for all this time?"

"I've been following you since you left your room, just in case you fell or something," said Legolas. "I was about to pay you a visit and there you were, sneaking outside with as much finesse as a lame mumak. I'm surprised no one caught you."

"I was rather proud of myself for that."

Legolas smiled. "Now that you're out, do you plan to just sit here and do nothing? The hobbits want me to tell a tale about our little side trip with Aragorn and you're more than welcome to join us."

"What little side trip?"

"You haven't heard? I thought the story would've spread through the entire city by now."

"Don't forget, I wasn't conscious for most of the past few days."

"That's all too true, but come, the hobbits are getting impatient. Wise people know better than to keep hobbits waiting."

* * *

Legolas had an audience which paid him undivided attention as he told them of their journey through the paths of the dead, with occasional prompters from Gimli. 

"You mean you let_ Guy_ come with you?" said Balian incredulously. "I daresay he wasn't much help."

"He wasn't," said Legolas "but his reaction was certainly amusing. It was well worth the trouble."

"I didn't think so," grumbled Gimli. "Nothing in there was amusing. And whilst we were getting out, this stubborn, thick-headed elf decided to swim in a pool of skulls. I had to bodily drag him out."

"And this dwarf here was afraid to get wet," said Legolas. "Did I tell you about how he lingered at the entrance..."

"Legolas! I made you promise not to tell!"

"I never agreed."

"You...!"

"If you agree that the mumak is worth forty, then I will not tell."

"Fine, it's worth forty! Satisfied?"

"Very. Well, Masters Peregrin, Meriadoc and Balian, we have told you our story. It's time for yours."

"I didn't see much of the battle," said Pippin. "You see, Denethor was trying to burn Faramir alive..."

"What?!" said Balian. "Where's Faramir? Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Merry assured him. "He's over there talking with Lady Éowyn." The hobbit added a knowing smile which Balian overlooked. The blacksmith heaved a sigh of relief.

"Can I continue on with my story?" said Pippin. He didn't like it when others interrupted his narrative.

"Sorry, Pip," said Merry. "Carry on. You haven't told me much yet, and I've told you everything."

"That's because you were talking too much."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

Gimli cleared his throat. "And what else happened?" he said pointedly.

"Anyway," said Pippin as if he had not digressed entirely from the tale "I alerted Gandalf and we rescued Faramir from the pyre. He was already on fire but I put it out and only his clothes were scorched. Denethor was not so lucky. He had covered himself with oil..." Balian winced as he thought of the pain. "...and he burst into flames then jumped off the parapet. Oh, I saved Gandalf's life once, when I killed an orc that was about to stab him from behind."

"Oh," chortled Gimli. "The old fella would have enjoyed that."

"So what about you, Balian?" said Merry. "What did you do? We've heard so many stories about you and each gets madder and more fantastical than the last. Did you really head-butt an orc who was wearing a helmet?"

"I was desperate," said the man as a way of explanation. Gimli snorted and Legolas broke into an elegant coughing fit.

"So what else happened?" asked Pippin. "I didn't see you very much. In fact, I didn't see you at all."

"I fought," said Balian. Legolas rolled his eyes. Balian's storytelling skills had not improved at all. If anything, they had gotten worse.

"And he got hurt," added Pippin "but I suppose everyone knows that." He turned to Balian with sulky eyes. "I know you have a great story to tell. You just don't want to tell it to us."

"I can't tell stories," mumbled Balian, beginning to blush with embarrassment. It was at these moments when he absolutely hated being at the centre of attention.

"Nonsense," said Gimli. "Everyone can tell stories. You told us your life's story back in Lothlorien."

"No," said Balian. "You dug it out of me, by force."

"We'll do that again if you don't tell us exactly what happened," said Merry with a wicked gleam in his eye.

'Why do they all enjoy torturing me?' thought the young man.

_**Stay tuned...**_

FROM ONE WORLD TO ANOTHER...

_Minas Tirith fades into Troy._

_Hector pulls Barbossa into a boat._

_Balian and Paris stare at each other._

BELIEFS CLASH...

_Balian and Calchas, High Priest of Troy, eye each other with hostility, circling. _

OLD FRIENDSHIPS PREVAIL...

_Balian and Legolas grip arms. _

_Jack , Barbossa and Will glare at each other._

_Hector claps Aeneas on the back._

NEW FRIENDSHIPS FORM...

**Hector: **_(to Balian, Jack, Legolas, Will) _This is the hour when we draw swords together, my brothers.

FATES WILL ENTWINE...

**Cassandra: **_(turning to someone of whom only the back of the head can be seen) _You were sent to save Troy.

DEBTS WILL BE SETTLED...

_Barbossa and Jack stand next to each other. Barbossa looks angrily at a calm Jack. He is holding the chart with a circular hole in the middle. Jack holds a circular section of chart. _

DISASTER WILL STRIKE...

**Jack: **_(stepping in between two confronting parties; Paris and Menelaus)_ If I may have a word, gentlemen.

_Balian grimaces._

**Jack: **Let us examine_ why_ your wife left you...

SUSPICIONS WILL ARISE...

**Jack: **Something smells fishy.

_A sword is placed against a defiant Balian's throat._

_**From the author of CHANCE ENCOUNTER comes**_

**CHANCE ENCOUNTER: PIRATE KINGDOM OF TROY**

_**COMING SOON TO FF-NET **_

_**(PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN SECTION)**_

* * *

**A/N: **Not much action in this one. Balian needs to recuperate. I suppose the battle at the Black Gates will have to be covered later. Not much Guy in this chapter either. He's busy pampering himself. Hope you guys liked it anyway and please review! 


	33. Mushrooms and Battles

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Balian, Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

**Chapter 23: Mushrooms and Battles**

Balian had recovered enough to join long walks in the gardens and he spent much time studying the strange plants. He had never seen such things before, neither in France nor in the Holy Land, where it was too dry to grow much. It was during one of these walks that Faramir found him on his hands and knees, examining a low growing plant that had leaves like petals.

"That comes from Harad," said Boromir's brother. "I can't remember its name."

"It's a very strange plant," said Balian, straightening himself and dusting off his hands. "I'd thought it was a green rose at a first glance. But enough about plants. How are you feeling?"

"Better than before," said Faramir. "I still get bouts of shivering but not as often. How about you? I heard that you took a bad wound, my young friend, not to mention that whole story about you head-butting an orc who was wearing a helmet."

"I think I'm well on my way to becoming perfectly fine again," said Balian. "I'm bored though. I don't know why they still won't let me out."

"Healers are like that," said Faramir. He looked around to see that they were alone. "I need to talk to you." Before Balian could ask what Faramir wanted to talk about, Faramir resumed speaking. "It's about Lady Éowyn," he said. "I...she..."

Balian smiled as understanding dawned on him. "Are you in love, Faramir?" he asked. The other man nodded. A faint blush tinged his tanned face. "She is a wonderful girl."

"I love her," said Faramir "but she loves Aragorn." Balian admired Faramir's courage. He would never tell someone else about something so private. "Since you've wooed two women, one of which was a princess, I was hoping maybe you could give me some advice."

Balian's face turned an interesting shade of red. He didn't know how to talk about something so intimate and close to his heart. All his life, he had been a man of very few words, preferring actions to speech. "I...I guess...I was honest with them," he said awkwardly.

"How?" asked Faramir.

"I told Jocelyn outright that I loved her and then dashed away before she could say anything..."

Faramir began to laugh. Balian glowered at him, which only served to make him laugh harder. "I was only seventeen," he said defensively.

"And she married you?" gasped Faramir between bouts of laughter.

"Not until I proposed to her in a fitting manner five years later," said Balian.

"What about Sibylla?"

"With Sibylla...I don't know how to explain it...it was love at first sight. She rode into my courtyard the day after I arrived at Jerusalem and demanded a drink of water. Then she stayed at Ibelin and one night she came to me..."

"Yet she still chose power over you," concluded Faramir. "That's what I'm worried about. I think Éowyn isn't really in love with Aragorn. She's in love with the power that he will have as King. For someone as beautiful and noble as the Shieldmaiden to feel that way is just tragic."

"Talk to her, Faramir," suggested Balian. "Tell her how you feel. How will she know that she has someone more suited to her waiting for her if you won't tell her?"

Faramir nodded, nervous at the prospect of speaking to Éowyn in such a blunt manner on such an intimate subject.

* * *

Guy had to admit, he liked Minas Tirith. He loved its magnificence and splendour, not to mention all the entertainment that the darker parts of the city had to offer. There had been such establishments in Jerusalem but none had been as exotic and sophisticated as the Gondorian ones. 

In fact, Guy was enjoying life so much that he was almost willing to give Balian a few days of reprieve before hatching up new plans to get rid of that _Perfect Knight_. There was no way he could've gained access to the man, at least, not at the moment. The new King of Gondor had specifically banned Guy from the Houses of Healing. Aragorn had not named his reasons but Guy suspected that the former ranger knew of his intent to kill the blacksmith.

The night was dark and the streets were empty as he hurried back to his quarters on the seventh level. Somewhere, a dog barked and was quickly hushed. Very few lights still shone on the topmost level. Guy crept through dark corridors and opened the door to his room. No light came in through the windows except for the unnatural red light from Mordor. Guy shuddered. It reminded him of the stories of eternal damnation and the unquenchable fires of Hell.

* * *

Balian's recovery was nothing short of miraculous. He was ready to be discharged within ten days of receiving his injury. Rumours started spreading about how the man must be protected by the Valar or some divinity. Balian was very pleased when he was told of his 'release'. He was well beyond bored. The Houses of Healing were beautiful but he was not used to such luxury and with the shadow of Mordor encroaching upon Middle Earth, he was eager to give his friends whatever help he could. Aragorn had given him a new tunic of chainmail. It was nowhere near as fine as the other one which had been a gift from the Elves but it was ruined and there was no smith in Gondor skilled enough to repair it. 

"Out and about so soon, Laddie?" said Gimli as he came into Balian's chamber, puffing on his borrowed pipe and quickly filling the room with fumes.

"The healers let me go," said Balian, not looking up from polishing his sword. He coughed. "Must you do that in here?" The man indicated the smoky haze. "I have to say, I agree with Legolas. I don't understand why you like to poison yourself."

"One day, Nanny Balian, you will realize that one of the great joys in life is smoking," said Gimli.

At the sound of the much detested nickname, Balian put down his sword and his whetstone and charged at the dwarf. Gimli dashed out of the room with a furious blacksmith on his heels, laughing as he did so.

"Nanny indeed!" shouted Balian as he rounded a corner. He was catching up to Gimli whose short legs were no match for the man's longer limbs. Balian pounced on Gimli and the two of them collided with Pippin who was cradling a bowl of battered, stuffed and fried mushrooms. The hobbit, dwarf and man tumbled to the ground in a heap of tangled arms and legs. The empty bowl clattered on the floor and rolled away down the corridor on its own. Mushrooms rained down upon them; it was the shower which preceded the storm. Pippin clambered out and was sputtering with anger. It had not been easy to coax the cooks into letting him make this rare treat and it had been ruined before he could even savour it.

Éomer's arrival saved Balian and Gimli from being torn apart by the furious little hobbit. "What's going on?" he asked when he saw the man and the dwarf attempting to untangle themselves. Somehow, Gimli had ended up on top of the blacksmith, which was not something that Balian had been hoping to achieve.

"They ruined my mushrooms!" cried Pippin, pointing an accusing finger at the two guilty members of the Fellowship. Balian pushed Gimli off him and stood up, looking apologetic. All the while, he was picking up mushrooms from the folds of his clothes and was handing them back to Pippin.

"I'm sure they'll give you some more in the kitchens," said Éomer quickly before Pippin could spout off more rhetoric about his lost mushrooms. "Balian, Gimli, everyone's looking for you. There's a conference in the throne room about our next plan of action."

* * *

Everyone else was waiting in the throne room. Legolas raised his eyebrow at Gimli and Balian as they hurried in late. "Frodo has passed beyond my sight," said Gandalf. "The darkness is deepening." 

"If Sauron had the Ring we would know it," said Aragorn.

"It's only a matter of time," said Gandalf in despair. "He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor, our enemy is regrouping."

"Then we must be prepared for another attack," said Balian.

"Let him stay there," said Gimli in annoyance around the pipe in his mouth. "Let him rot! Why should we care?"

"Because ten thousand orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom," said Gandalf. "I've sent him to his death."

"I refuse to believe that," said Balian. "Saruman's words were venomous. You should not take them to heart."

Gandalf looked at Balian and gave the man a grateful smile.

"Balian's right," said Aragorn. "There is still hope. He needs time and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that."

"How?" asked Gimli with a dark expression.

"Draw out Sauron's army," said Aragorn. "Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."

Gimli choked at the thought of their meagre force fighting against the might of Mordor. Aragorn really shouldn't have released the Dead. They would have been useful in such a situation.

"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms," said Éomer, voicing everyone's opinion.

"Not for ourselves," said Aragorn. "We can give Frodo a chance if we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon eyes. Keep him blind to all else that moves."

"A diversion," said Legolas with shining eyes.

Gimli took his pipe from his mouth. "Certainty of death," he said enthusiastically "small chance of success, what are we waiting for?"

Gandalf was not so convinced by Aragorn's plan which was workable, if flawed. "Sauron will suspect a trap," said the wizard. "He will not take the bait."

"Oh, I think he will," said Aragorn with a smile.

'Valar,' thought Legolas. 'What is that foolish human planning?'

* * *

Balian was giving his sword a final polish that night when Merry and Pippin burst into his room, looking incensed and desperate. Before the hobbits could say anything, Balian mistook the cause of their anger and raised his hands as if surrendering. "Merry, Pippin, I'm sorry about the mushrooms..." he began. 

"It's not about the mushrooms," said Pippin

"You're going to fight without us tomorrow?" demanded Merry

"What did Gandalf and Aragorn say?" said Balian.

"They said we can't come because it will be too dangerous," said Pippin.

"Maybe they're right," said Balian.

"What do you think?" said Merry.

"I think you should follow your heart and do what you think is right," said Balian.

"I think we should fight," said Pippin. "Frodo and Sam are our friends. We want to help them."

"Will you help us convince Aragorn and Gandalf?" said Merry.

"If you're sure that's what you want, then I shall," said Balian. He set down his sword and followed the hobbits out of the room. They hurried down dark corridors, asking passing servants for the location of the King. Aragorn was proving to be a particularly elusive sovereign. No one knew where he was and all their friends were nowhere to be seen.

Balian was about to give out when he heard anxious cry from Legolas. He left Merry and Pippin behind as he raced towards the sound. "I knew you would try something stupid!" Legolas was shouting. "Look at you! You're paler than me!"

The blacksmith skidded to a stop when he saw his friends. Legolas was supporting a traumatized Aragorn while Gandalf looked on with worry. "Arwen," whispered Aragorn.

"Feel with your heart, Estel," said Legolas. "She's waiting for you to become King so you can marry her. There is still hope."

"Maybe you should rest, Aragorn," said Gandalf. "You need to be fully alert tomorrow."

Legolas helped Aragorn to the King's chambers. Balian approached Gandalf. "What happened?" he asked.

"Aragorn looked into the palantir," said the wizard. "He saw someone who is very dear to him dying."

"The palantir, isn't that the stone that we found in...?"

"Yes, that is the one. It's a very dangerous tool. You should never play with one, young man."

Balian decided to do what he had come to do. All this talk about the palantir was spooking him. "Gandalf, Merry and Pippin have approached me..." he began.

"Yes?" said Gandalf.

"They want me to ask you on their behalf to let them accompany the army tomorrow."

"It's too dangerous. You should know that, Balian. Swords and spears are remorseless."

"It's not fair to leave them behind if they want to help Frodo. They have both proven their skill in battle. Merry helped to kill the Witch King and Pippin saved your life."

Gandalf snorted. "I should've known they would use this to support their arguments, but I never would have thought that you would agree with them and that they would go to you of all people."

"It's their choice. It's not within my right to judge it. If they believe that it is right, then I think they should be allowed to come."

Gandalf smiled. "Trust a Took and a Brandybuck to find someone who can persuade me. They can go, but only if you look after them."

* * *

Long lines and columns of men in shining silver armour marched or rode out of Minas Tirith like a river of flowing metal, led by their new King. Alongside them were the Rohirrim with their round shields and proud standards with images of horses. Balian rode up at the front with Aragorn. He had been exempted from wearing the Gondorian armour, for which he was most grateful. Legolas and Gimli once again shared a horse, while Pippin rode before Gandalf. Balian shared his saddle with Merry, who looked every bit the esquire of Rohan, dressed in the livery of the Horse lords. 

Guy also rode with them, although he had been assigned to the rearguard. Every step they took towards Mordor sent a jolt of fear down his spine. God, he really wasn't ready to die. This felt worse than the march to Hattin. At least he and Saladin had had armies of a similar size. The armies of Mordor would just engulf their feeble force without so much as a pause.

Balian wasn't feeling particularly enthusiastic about this either. He could sense the men's anxiety but he could do nothing to assuage their fears. That was Aragorn's responsibility now. The blacksmith had used up every strategy that he had ever thought of. He had never attacked another nation before. All the battles that he had ever fought had been fought for the sake of defence.

The army stopped before the Black Gate. Balian had never seen such a fortress as the one which was Mordor. The gates were so tall that it took four trolls to work the mechanisms which controlled them. They were wrought of a strange black metal and at the top were cruel spikes, which enemy heads were probably stuck on after battles. Sauron's lands were surrounded by natural walls of glossy black rock which could not be breached by any siege engines. Aragorn and the rest of the commanders rode up to the gates. Balian followed them.

"Let the lord of the Black Land come forth!" shouted the King of Gondor. "Let justice be done upon him!"

The gates creaked open a little and a dark figure on a armoured black horse rode out. Balian caught a small glimpse of the barren wasteland which Sauron ruled. It was Hell made flesh. As the rider neared them, he could see that the sharp metal helmet which he wore concealed all his facial features except for a wide mouth with long rotten teeth. He felt repulsed by the creature, but he refused to let his discomfort show.

"My master Sauron the Great bids you welcome," said the creature in a low rumbling voice which grated on Balian's ears. It flashed its teeth in what the blacksmith took to be a grin. "Is there any in this rout with the authority to treat with me?"

'Is it true that all villains are arrogant?' wondered Balian.

"We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed," said Gandalf coldly, barely concealing his anger. "Tell you master this. The armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."

"Aha," said the Mouth of Sauron. He sneered. "Old Greybeard, I have a token I was bidden to show you."

From within the folds of his dark cloak, he produced a shining garment which contrasted greatly with the rest of the darkness. He tossed it at Gandalf, and Pippin caught the familiar shirt.

"Frodo!" cried Pippin.

"Be silent," said Gandalf.

"No!" cried Merry

"Silence!" said the wizard, throwing Balian a dark look. He knew something like this would happen.

"The Halfling was dear to you, I see," said Sauron's foul ambassador. "Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host. Who would've thought that one so small could endure so much pain? And he did, Gandalf, he did."

'He's lying,' Balian realized. 'Frodo cannot be captured, or else Sauron would have the Ring and he would not have to send this thing out to speak for him.'

"Don't listen to him," he said. "He's lying. They're trying to break our morale."

All eyes turned to him as if they had just registered his presence.

"What is this?" said the Mouth of Sauron in contempt. He bared his teeth. "Ah, a Chosen One, I see. One blessed by the Valar and Iluvatar himself. You are born of the lesser race. Who are you to dismiss my words as lies?"

'A chosen one?' thought Balian as he watched Sauron's ambassador warily. 'Who is Iluvatar?'

The Mouth of Sauron quickly lost interest in Balian as Aragorn rode forward with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Who is this?" said the ambassador of Mordor. "Isildur's heir? It takes more to make a King than a broken elvish blade."

Aragorn did not answer with a retort. Instead, he unsheathed his blade and with a movement almost too quick for their eyes to follow, he sliced the foul head from the ambassador's shoulder. It was not a diplomatic solution but Balian felt a great deal of satisfaction.

"I guess that concludes negotiations," said Gimli, not sounding sorry at all.

"I do not believe it," said Aragorn, turning to his companions. He had no time to say anymore. The Black Gate was opening. They rode back to where the army was just as a flood of orcs oozed out carrying their grisly standards. The men were backing away in fear as the might of Mordor advanced on them.

"Hold your ground!" shouted Aragorn, raising his sword and rallying the troops. "Hold your ground! Stand firm!"

The men stayed their retreat.

"Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers!" began Aragorn "I see it in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight!" He looked the men in their eyes and he could see hope being rekindled in them even as he spoke. "By all that you hold dear, on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

Balian felt hope rekindled in his heart like the rest of the men. He drew his sword, knowing that he would follow this man, even to his death. Aragorn the ranger had become King Aragorn of Gondor.

The King stood before Mordor. Sauron's burning gaze was fixed on him. For a moment, Aragorn's resolution seemed to falter as he stared at the Eye of his enemy, then he turned to his anxious friends. "For Frodo," he said with a smile, then he ran at the ranks of orcs with his naked sword ready to bite into the orcs' foul flesh. The rest of them watched him in surprise.

They charged.

* * *

_**Stay Tuned...**_

_(Legolas voice over) _YOU HAVE SEEN A GLIMPSE OF WHAT IS WANTED OF YOU...

The wooden horse is burning

_(Legolas voice over)_ YOU WERE CHOSEN FROM THE HOUR OF YOUR BIRTH...

Balian turns. His face is solemn, shining with sweat and streaked with blood and dust.

_(Legolas voice over) _TO BRING JUSTICE...

Balian draws his sword and takes a high guard.

_(Legolas voice over) _AND TO KEEP IT.

Balian clasps hands with someone.

**TRIALS AND TORMENTS...**

Balian is forced onto his knees. Someone strikes him hard across the face.

**JOYS AND SORROWS...**

Balian, Will and Legolas laugh at a private joke.

Balian and Hector speak in urgent whispers.

**A TEST OF STRENGTH...**

Achilles and Balian's blades meet and clash.

**A DESTINY TO FULFIL...**

Paris raises the sword of Troy then turns to look at Balian.

_**From the author of CHANCE ENCOUNTER comes**_

**CHANCE ENCOUNTER: PIRATE KINGDOM OF TROY**

_**COMING SOON TO FF-NET **_

* * *

**A/N: **Well, I didn't manage to get onto the battle itself. That will be covered in the next chapter. This is one of those fill-in chapters which just have to be written. I hope you guys enjoyed it. Let me know if you did...or didn't. 


	34. The Last Stand

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **Balian, Aragorn, Legolas etc. are MINE...in my wildest dreams.

**Chapter 34: The Last Stand**

The battle surged around him like the wildest storm in which he was only a drop of rain. Balian decapitated one orc and moved onto the next. Merry and Pippin were fighting back to back behind him and they were managing rather well, considering their size. Legolas had once again exhausted his arrows and was reduced to fighting with his knives. This time, he was not counting.

Black blood spurted everywhere, staining Balian's face and hands as he ended the miserable lives of the orcs. He could not help but pity them even as he slashed out at them. Were they even able to choose whether they wanted to kill or not? He pushed his blade into an orc's body. There was a sickening squelch as it went through flesh. If the orcs had no choice but to be what they were, where did they go when they died? The question was too profound for the blacksmith. He pushed it out of his head and continued to fight. His blade was stained with the blood of his enemies.

A screech sounded overhead. The Nazgûl had arrived, swooping down on the valiant group of fighters. Balian doubted that there would be a high chance of survival for the men. He was proud to go down fighting alongside such courageous comrades. Truly, if he was to die, he would at least die a knight. Before the Nazgûl could attack the men however, a long clear call answered their screams. There was a flurry of feathers as the largest eagles that Balian had ever seen engaged the winged beasts in battle. He felt his hope renewed.

Guy was fighting nearby and somehow, Balian found himself right beside his archrival. 'I never thought I would die fighting side by side with Guy,' he thought. It was ironic. Not so long ago, they had been trying to kill each other.

It took almost all of Guy's concentration just to prevent himself from being skewered. All the while, he was looking for an opportunity to achieve his ultimate goal without getting killed. An orc charged at the antagonistic pair, intent on spearing at least one of them. It would have missed entirely if Guy had not seen his chance and given Balian a violent shove.

The orc's spear met the blacksmith's torso, just below his ribcage. The tip pierced through the chainmail and Balian's flesh, emerging from his back. Balian was too shocked to scream. Blood spilled from his mouth and into his beard. Recovering his senses just in time, he ignored the pain and beheaded the orc.

Merry watched in horror as the scene unfolded before his eyes. Time slowed to a trickle as Guy pushed Balian into the orc's path. He wanted to shout something, but his voice stuck in his throat. How could Guy do such a thing after Balian had spared his life?

Balian wrapped his fingers about the shaft of the spear and attempted to break it off, screaming through clenched teeth as he did so. The action sent waves of pain shooting through the core of his being. He saw and felt something black and sticky on the shaft. It had been poisoned. The brittle wood snapped and he discarded it. Balian let loose a groan as he clutched the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Red rivulets ran from between his fingers. Everything seemed to fade. His knees refused to obey him and they buckled. He leaned on his sword for support. Someone was calling his name from faraway. The voice was laced with despair. He tried to say something to reassure whoever it was but found that he couldn't. His body gave away and he crumpled to the ground as his life was slowly drained from him.

Guy glanced back to see Balian lying on the ground. He smiled in satisfaction even as he cleaved an orc's head from its shoulders. In life, Balian had been called an angel of justice. In death, he looked like a fallen angel with broken wings. Never in his entire life had Guy felt so successful. Emboldened, he applied himself to the fighting with more vigour than ever before. Balian was dead, and Guy wanted to live to enjoy it.

Merry and Pippin scrambled to Balian's side. The man looked dead but the hobbits refused to give up hope. They wadded up their cloaks and pressed them to either side of the wound in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. The other men saw what had happened and they formed a protective circle around the threesome.

All seemed lost when the Nazgûl suddenly left. The ground was shaking and no one could remain upright. The tower of Barad-dûr crumbled as the Eye of Sauron exploded, sending waves of power outwards and forcing man and orc alike onto the ground. All of them looked on in wonder as Mordor caved in. The orcs fled as they realized that their master had been defeated. Balian's eyes opened slightly. His vision was blurry and he was consumed by pain, but he could see that the fighting had stopped and the dark clouds of foul fumes had dispersed. A small sigh of satisfaction escaped his lips, unnoticed by all. Middle Earth was saved. His eyes slowly closed and he retreated into the darkness where pain could not find him.

In the distance, Mount Doom erupted, spewing rivers of red liquid rock down its sides. Gandalf's joy turned to worry as he thought of Frodo and Sam, all alone in Mordor. He called to Gwaihir, the Lord of the Eagles, and asked the great bird to take him to Mount Doom to find the hobbits. Merry and Pippin wanted to go too, but they knew that Gandalf would never permit it. Instead, they turned their attention back to their wounded friend.

Legolas noticed a group of men clustered around something. He pushed his way through to the centre, then stopped in his tracks. On the ground lay Balian's broken body, seemingly lifeless. He knelt down beside the man. "No, my friend," he whispered. "Not again. You can't die now that the enemy is gone and the war is over." He searched for a pulse and to his relief, he found it, even though it was very weak.

Éomer had managed to make his way to the centre with Aragorn right behind him. "What happened?" he demanded as soon as he saw the blacksmith.

"It's Guy," said Merry. "He pushed Balian into the orc's path so the orc could stab him."

'Damn the midget,' thought Guy as all eyes turned to him. He could not escape. He was surrounded by more than a thousand angry warriors, all thirsting for his blood.

"Arrest him," said Éomer. Gondorians and Rohirrim alike rushed to do his bidding. Guy was quickly subdued and bound.

Balian's still form was transferred onto a makeshift stretcher. Legolas, despite his fear for his friend, thought that it was ironic that Balian should enter the White City twice in exactly the same way. 'What would you say if you knew, Balian?' he thought. 'Once again we must deliver you into the hands of the healers that you seek to elude.' The procession back to Minas Tirith was sombre. Many of the brave men who had ridden out were not riding back, while others were going back home on stretchers, only to die in the land where they had once roamed.

Legolas glanced back at the blood-soaked battlefield. The carrion birds were already feasting. What would become of it in ten years' time? A hundred years' time? When the dust was gone from the bones of the fallen and lush green grass grew where the carnage had been. When all the elves had sailed and Aragorn's name was but one of the many in the legends, would they still remember the sacrifice that had been made before the maw of Mordor that day? The elf had no answers. Only time would be able to tell. He looked back down at his friend, who had not moved. Maybe the future generations would not remember, but Legolas promised that he would remember for all of them.

* * *

Guy fought and struggled as he was dragged underground and thrown into the deepest, darkest and dampest cell in the dungeons. The heavy door slammed shut and he was left alone with his thoughts. What becomes of him now? 'The world will decide,' said Balian's voice inside his head. 'The world always decides.' 

'Damn you, blacksmith,' thought Guy as he tried to get rid of that voice from his mind. He didn't want the world to decide. No, he, Guy de Lusignan, wanted to decide for himself. He sat down and leaned against the wall. It was cold and it smelled bad, like mildew tainted with rotting flesh. What would he give to be out of here?

'If you rise, rise a knight,' said Balian's voice.

"Goddamnit blacksmith! Leave me alone!" screamed Guy into the nothingness. He had enough troubles without Balian invading his mind. His words echoed in the empty stone cell.

'Alone, alone, alone...' said the echoes. They were right. He was alone, only it didn't seem like it. In the dark emptiness, more voices seemed to invade his head. Some were his friends. Some were not. He heard Reynald saying "Kill him", but Reynald was long dead.

"A king does not kill a king," said Saladin's voice. Guy hoped that it was true. He was a king and Aragorn was a king, but did Aragorn live by this principle?

"God help me!" he whispered. "I'm going mad. This is Balian's revenge!"

* * *

Balian looked so weak and helpless, lying on the white pallet in the Houses of Healing. His face was pale and his breathing was so shallow that it could hardly be registered. Aragorn had dressed the wound to the best of his ability but it seemed that his best was not good enough. Poison was running rampant through the young man's body and he had lost too much blood. The only fortunate thing was that the spear had missed most of his vital organs but that hardly mattered. Even an amateur could tell that Balian was beyond saving. 

The blacksmith's eyes slowly opened. They were unfocused. His friends leaned in closer. This movement, no matter how small, gave them a spark of hope. "Legolas?" he said in a barely audible whisper.

"I'm here," said Legolas, taking the man's hand in his own.

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

"No you're not, my friend." Legolas was finding it difficult to speak through the lump in his throat.

"I know I am," said Balian. There was no fear, only acceptance. "Will you promise me something?"

"Anything," said Legolas.

"Don't put 'Nanny Balian' on my tombstone."

"You're getting back at me, aren't you?" Legolas managed a watery chuckle.

Balian gave a faint smile and closed his eyes again. Legolas quickly checked to see if the man was still breathing and sighed in relief when he found out that he was. The elf turned to Aragorn. "How much longer does he have?" he asked. "Is there any chance of saving him at all?"

"This is beyond my skill to heal," said Aragorn. "I've never seen this type of poison before and even without the poison, the wound alone is very serious. I'm surprised he's still alive. He is very strong. I guess he has about three days, maybe more, maybe less. I don't know for sure."

"He's too young to die," said Legolas.

"Poor lad," said Gimli. "He's never known a day of true peace. He doesn't even know the joy of smoking."

"And he's never tasted fried mushrooms," said Pippin.

"Or stewed mushrooms," added Merry.

"And ale from the Green Dragon," said the Took. "He's never tasted that either."

The door opened, and Faramir came in. "My lords," said Gondor's future Steward. "You should rest."

"I can't leave him all alone," said Legolas.

"I'll keep vigil tonight," said Faramir. "He won't be alone."

Aragorn nodded and the members of the Fellowship filed out reluctantly. They were just coming out of the Houses of Healing when two giant eagles landed, each carrying an unconscious hobbit in a talon.

"Frodo!" cried Merry and Pippin, breaking into a run. Frodo's eyes moved beneath his eyelids as he heard his name. His left hand had a bloody stump where his index finger had been.

Sam woke. "Mister Frodo," he croaked.

"Hush, Samwise," chided Gandalf gently, climbing down from Gwaihir's back. "He's safe. You both are, and you need to recover your strength."

"Are they going to be alright, Gandalf?" said Pippin anxiously.

"They will be," replied the wizard.

"At least someone will be fine," said Merry.

"What happened?" asked the Istar.

"Balian is badly injured," said Aragorn. "He might not survive."

"That lecherous traitor tried to kill him," spat Gimli.

"What lecherous traitor?" asked Gandalf.

"Guy," said Merry. "He pushed Balian into the path of an orc spear."

"Can you do something about it, Gandalf?" asked Legolas.

"Let me settle Frodo and Sam first, and then I will see what I can do for our young blacksmith."

* * *

_There was only grey. Mist surrounded him like a shroud, muffling all sounds. He couldn't see anything. He wandered aimlessly, looking for a path, or anything that might guide him. Something caught his eye. There, in the far distance, was a glimmer of light. He headed towards it..._

Faramir watched the unmoving man, all the while holding his hand, hoping that he would wake. "You know," he said softly. "I took your advice and I talked to Éowyn. You probably wouldn't believe this but I proposed to her afterwards and she accepted. Being honest and blunt worked better than I had expected." The man on the bed did not respond. Faramir continued to speak, even though Balian could not hear him. "You have to wake up soon. Éowyn and I have already picked a date for our wedding. It's in six months' time but we need help planning it. It's going to be a huge affair and we need some expert advice."

The door opened and Éowyn came in. "What are you doing, Faramir?" she asked. "I thought I heard voices."

"I was just talking to Balian, trying to entice him to come back," said Faramir.

"What were you talking about?" asked Éowyn, bringing another chair over so she could sit beside the bed.

"I was telling him about our wedding plans," said Faramir. He turned back to the unconscious blacksmith. "I want to hold it in Gondor, but she wants to hold it in Rohan."

"It'll be summer in Rohan," cut in Éowyn. "The grass will be lush and green and the air will be filled with the scent of wildflowers. The bees will be busy in the meadows, collecting sweet nectar to make honey." She took a deep breath. Seeing Balian like this reminded her of Théodred on his deathbed. "You have to come, Balian," she continued, trying to control the quivering in her voice. "You've only ever seen Rohan in its darkest winter. It wouldn't be fair if you didn't stay long enough to see its most glorious summer as well."

"And you need to help rebuild Middle Earth," said Faramir, putting his arm around Éowyn to offer her what comfort he could. "Much of the infrastructure in both nations has been damaged. We need someone with your skills. Think about it, my friend. There are orphans waiting for you back in Rohan, or so I'm told. They'll miss their nanny. If you die, Aragorn will build a statue of you, and I know for sure that the plaque will say 'Nanny Balian'. You don't want that, do you? I know how much you hate being at the centre of attention."

Thus, Éowyn and Faramir held a one-sided conversation with Balian until the new day dawned and Legolas came to relieve them. The second day had begun.

* * *

_No matter how fast he walked or ran, the light did not seem to draw any closer. Just as he was about to give up, he was in its full glare. The mist cleared away and there seemed to be nothing beneath his feet except air. Not so far away was a wall of pure white, and t here were many gates. All of them had long queues. He lined up at the end of the closest one. Men and women dressed in robes the colour of the wall guarded the gates and ticked off names from an ever growing list as people went inside. Soon, it was his turn._

"_Name," said the guard._

"_Balian of Ibelin," he said. The guard peered at his list and frowned._

"_You're not supposed to be here," said the guard. "Your name is not on my list."_

"_Then where am I supposed to be?"_

"_Heavens, don't ask me. I only make sure the right people get in. Next."_

_Balian was pushed aside by the person behind him. He watched as the other people went in, wondering why he wasn't allowed. Occasionally, tall fair beings with white feathery wings wandered past. One of them saw Balian and went to speak with the guard. They conversed in hushed whispers. The guard pointed first at Balian then at his list. The fair being nodded then approached Balian. _

"_Balian d'Ibelin, son of Godfrey, you will come with me," he said. _

* * *

When Frodo woke, he was no longer in Mordor. The air smelled fresher with the scent of spring blossoms. Golden sunlight poured in through the window. A familiar figure was sitting at the end of his bed, hunched over a smoking pipe. The bushy eyebrows were drawn together in thought and resembled two fat grey hairy caterpillars. 

'Am I dead?' thought the hobbit. His hand throbbed where Gollum had bit off his finger and he decided that he was very much alive. Aloud, he voiced one word. "Gandalf?"

The figure on his bed turned. The kind lined face that he knew so well was lit up by a smile.

"Oh, Gandalf!" cried Frodo.

On hearing the noise, Merry and Pippin rushed in to investigate. They saw that Frodo was awake and they leapt onto his bed to hug him. Gimli came in next. The dwarf clapped his hands in jubilation and seemed to want to join the hobbits on the bed but he managed to restrain himself. Legolas came in, followed by Aragorn and last of all, Sam. The Ringbearer glanced at his friends. Someone was missing. He knew about Boromir but... "Where's Balian?" he asked. His friends' faces fell. Sam was the first to speak. "He's next door, Mister Frodo," said the loyal gardener. "He's not very well."

Frodo pushed himself into a sitting position. "Can I see him?" he asked. Gandalf and Aragorn shared a glance. The hobbit didn't give them time to refuse. "I feel fine. I really do," he insisted. "I just want to see him."

Gandalf sighed. "Very well then, Master Baggins," he said. Frodo, leaning on Merry and Pippin, made his way to Balian's room. They settled Frodo in the armchair beside the bed, wrapped a blanket around him and put a footrest beneath his feet.

"If you need anything, just ring the bell," said Pippin, putting a large silver bell in Frodo's lap. "One of us will be outside." With that, they left Frodo and Balian alone in the room for what could be the last time.

Frodo reached out to touch Balian's still hand. It was hard and calloused from years of labour and toil. "I realized that I've never thanked you for protecting me that time on Caradhras," said the hobbit. "Thank you. You saved my life. You can hear me, can't you? I hope you can. I wish you would wake up. You probably have a grand story to tell. I don't know but one day, I might write a book about all our adventures, and I want to put you in it. Fight, Balian, fight. Fight like that time on the mountain. Wake up soon, please? You have to visit the Shire, now that Middle Earth is saved. It is the most beautiful place..."

* * *

The sun set in the west, marking the end of the second day. They were running out of time. Legolas paced restlessly. There had to be a way. Balian's immortality was meaningless if he died like this. Didn't Gandalf say that the Valar had a use for the man? Surely the Valar wouldn't let his life just end because of Guy's actions. The elf pondered this well into the night, when everyone was asleep. Driven to the end of his wits, the elf sneaked through the corridors and into the throne room where the palantir was kept. 

Aragorn trailed the elf at a distance. He couldn't sleep either. The man waited outside the throne room to see what Legolas would do.

Legolas approached the cloth-covered palantir, aware of the harm that it could do if it was not properly wielded. He pulled off the cloth. There it was, a perfect sphere of clear black crystal. Light festered at its centre, drawing him to it. It called to him, inviting him to look deeply. The elf placed his hands on the cold smooth stone.

* * *

**Stay Tuned...**

EVERY ACT HAS A MOTIVE...

_Extreme close up of a large frightened eye._

_Silhouette of someone plunging a knife downwards._

_Blood splatters on the wall._

EVERY COINCIDENCE HAS A PURPOSE...

**Cassandra: **You will make things right.

_Balian brandishes his sword at someone_

EVERY MAN HAS SOMETHING WHICH HE DESIRES...

_**HONOUR**_

_Hector turns._

_**LOVE**_

_Paris kisses Helen._

_**JUSTICE**_

_Balian draws his sword._

**Achilles: **_(shouting) _Do you know what's waiting upon that beach?

_**GLORY**_

**Achilles:** _(shouting) _Immortality! Take it! It's yours!

_**POWER**_

**Agamemnon: **Troy must submit to my command!

_Balls of fire fly into the night sky. _

_Balian fights a Greek adversary. _

_Paris shoots an arrow._

_Legolas unsheathes his knives._

_Pintel and Ragetti run with sacks of gold taken from the temple. _

_**From the author of CHANCE ENCOUNTER comes**_

**CHANCE ENCOUNTER: PIRATE KINGDOM OF TROY**

_**COMING SOON TO FF-NET **_

_**(PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN SECTION)**_

**Jack: **_(raising an eyebrow) _That's...interesting.

* * *

**A/N: **The Ring's destroyed! The story's almost over! (sobs) . Please review! I think there's about one more chapter to go then Balian has to leave. 


	35. The Return of the King

**Chance Encounter**

**Disclaimer: **I wish I owned Balian, Aragorn, Legolas and the rest of them but I don't. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them when I'm done.

_A special thank you to **Laurelindorenae **for making a beautiful trailer for this story. You can view it here at_ http colon double slash youtube dot com slash watch?vykkPZPiO92s _Thank you, mellon-nin._

**Chapter 35: The Return of the King**

_Balian followed the angel —for his guide could only be an angel— past the place where the souls were being judged. "Your time has not come yet, Balian," said the angel. "That is why you are not permitted to go in. The Lord God has purpose for you in all the different worlds. That is why He has made you immortal."_

"_I thought the One and the Valar made me immortal," said Balian. _

"_Do you know what they are?" asked the angel. Balian shook his head. _

"_The One refers to the Lord God, and the Valar are the angels who administer to Middle Earth and the Undying Lands."_

"_Which world do you administer to?" asked Balian. It seemed like an insolent question but he was curious. The angel smiled._

"_Yours," he said. "I have been watching you since the day you were conceived. It should have been my brother Gabriel's task but as usual, he had been sent down in human form to deal with evil that had escaped from Hell."_

"_If Gabriel is your brother then that makes you..."_

"_I am Michael, often called the Right Hand of God by you and your kind."_

_Balian gaped. He was talking to the Archangel. Michael looked at him in amusement. "Come," he said. "We are nearing Purgatory and there are people who want to see you." As Michael spoke, figures appeared in the distance and began running towards them. They were dressed in white, like everyone else that he had met since coming here. As they neared, Balian recognized his father Godfrey, his mother, and a few of his friends. He was speechless with joy and he could not move. Was this all a dream? His mother reached him first. She was in the bloom of youth again and he could hardly recognize her._

"_Balian," she said, throwing her arms about her son. "What happened to you? I wasn't expecting you so soon."_

"_I hope it's got nothing to do with that bastard Guy," growled Godfrey. His hair was thick and dark again and all the lines had gone from his face as if they had been smoothed away by a divine hand. "Brother John told me how he tried to send Templars to kill you, and very nearly succeeded. But you have some strength in you, and some dumb luck."_

"_He told us about what happened at Jerusalem too," said his mother. "I am so proud of you."_

_Balian grinned bashfully, then the grin faded. "Mother," he said. "I'm sorry about what happened to Guillaume. I didn't mean to kill him but I just couldn't control myself..."_

"_It's alright," said his mother. "We all make mistakes. The important thing is that you saw fit to redeem yourself. That's all that matters, _mon petit bonhomme_."_

_Balian glanced around. "Where's Brother John?" he said when he couldn't see the permanently cheerful Hospitaller. Godfrey chuckled._

"_Can you believe that Hospitaller?" he said. "He went straight to Heaven!"_

_Balian and his parents spent many more moments in conversation. They told him about life in Purgatory and he told them about his latest adventures. Godfrey could not stop himself from laughing when Balian mentioned how Gimli and Legolas called him 'Nanny Balian'. _

"_It's not that amusing," said Balian with a scowl._

"_Trust me," said Godfrey "If you've been in Purgatory for as long as I have, anything remotely amusing is worthy of a laugh."_

"_You haven't been here for that long, Godfrey," said Balian's mother. _

"_It's time to move on," said Michael. Balian left his parents and friends reluctantly and followed the Archangel. He glanced backwards. His father had his arm around his mother and they were all waving at him. Then they faded into nothingness._

"_They have gone back into Purgatory," said Michael. _

"_I miss them already," said the man. _

* * *

Images flashed through Legolas' mind as soon as his skin made contact with the palantir's surface. The seeing stone showed him the White Tree of Gondor and its buds. 'What's that got to do with anything?' he wondered. The palantir was getting out of control. The elf gasped in horror as he found himself staring into the eye of Sauron. Sweat beaded on his skin as he struggled to control the stone. Pain shot through his body as Sauron's voice sounded in his head. Just as it threatened to overwhelm him, the palantir was knocked from his grasp. His eyes flew open. 

"Idiotic elf!" cried Aragorn. The palantir was on the floor, with its cloth covering hastily thrown over it. "You should never have tried that! I tell you, you are going to be the death of me, Legolas Greenleaf! Are you alright? What did you see?"

"I saw the White Tree," gasped Legolas, trying to regain his breath. "And I saw its buds. Aragorn, does the White Tree have healing properties?"

"I don't know," said Aragorn "but there ought to be something about it in the library."

* * *

_Balian glimpsed Heaven through its gates of lustrous pearl. From what he had seen of it, it was a spectacular place. It was full of light and birdsong. Children in the bloom of health plucked plump fruits from the trees while animals romped about their feet. Even the rats were well-fed and glossy. They lazed about in the sun and had no fear of being caught and killed. Brother John was waiting for them at the gates with another young man whom Balian could not recognize. The Hospitaller was wearing his usual amused smile. The young man beside him had dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His features looked as if they had been carved by the finest heavenly sculptor and his skin, although pale, glowed with health. They were both dressed in robes of pure white and their heads were wreathed with golden halos. _

"_Hello, Balian," said the young man beside Brother John. Balian might not have recognized his face but he would know that voice anywhere although it sounded somewhat strange now that it was not muffled by a mask. The blacksmith tried to kneel but Baldwin stopped him. "We are all equal in God's eyes," he said. _

"_So, have you found your purpose yet, my young friend?" asked Brother John. His smile was benevolent, as was Baldwin's. _

"_I believe I have," said Balian._

"_I see that you took my words to heart," said Baldwin. "I spoke to God about you. All your trials and ordeals were tests, much like Job's. You didn't pass the tests very well though. You lost your faith, but the Lord God forgives you."_

"_He told you that?" said Balian. "When all of that happened, I thought He had forgotten me, or perhaps he didn't know me."_

"_He knows you," Baldwin assured him. "And He told us to tell you that you have a long and difficult road before you."_

* * *

A few hours later, after having looked through hundreds of volumes and consumed several glasses of wine, Aragorn and Legolas found what they were looking for. "It says here that unopened flowers from the White Tree can act as an antidote to any poison," said Legolas. 

"But it's sacrilege to harm the White Tree," said Aragorn.

"At the moment, I'm ready to commit sacrilege if it's going to save Balian's life," said Legolas.

Aragorn stifled a yawn. The sun was already high in the sky. The third day had begun. "So how do you suggest we get the buds?" asked the man. "There are elite guards guarding the Tree and I don't think they'll let us just walk in and pick the buds off, even though I am the uncrowned King.

"We need to create a diversion," said Legolas. "I think we should talk to the rest of the Fellowship, and Faramir, Éowyn and Éomer as well. We need some of their ideas."

* * *

_Balian and Michael continued on their journey back to the world of the living. Through an archway of black stone, Balian could see Hell and the souls that were in there, seething with pain as the eternal fire burned their flesh but never consumed them. Something made him stop in his tracks. In amongst the souls of the damned, he could see his Jocelyn, trying to reach out to him. There were purple ligature marks on her neck where the rope had been. Her entire body was on fire and some of her skin had charred but it was not killing her. She called out to him although the fiery winds drowned out her voice. Tears ran down her face, leaving glistening trails. He could see her lips forming his name. She tried to run to him, but demons grabbed her by the arms to pull her back. Balian gave a cry and tried to rush into Hell to save her and he would have done so if Michael had not caught him in time. "You can't go in there," said the angel. "If you go in there now, you'll never get out again."_

"_I'm not leaving her alone in Hell!" cried Balian as he struggled against Michael's grasp. "Damn it! She's my wife! I have to save her! She doesn't deserve this..." His voice cracked as tears spilled from his eyes. "She really doesn't deserve to be damned."_

* * *

The hobbits were very keen to help although Gandalf did limit the amount of involvement that Frodo could have. "You're not well enough yet, Frodo Baggins," said the wizard. 

"I'm fine," insisted Frodo. "I look worse than I feel."

"Then you can't be feeling that great, Frodo," said Pippin. "Have you looked in the mirror in the last ten years?"

"Pip," said Merry in exasperation. "This isn't the time to joke."

"I can pretend to faint," offered Éowyn.

"Faramir and I can pretend to fight," said Éomer. "They will help if they see the future King of Rohan trying to kill the future Steward of Gondor."

"Can it be the other way around?" said Faramir.

"If you really want. Then while they're trying to separate us, oh, and help Éowyn who's fainted from fear for her dear brother's life, Legolas can sneak up to the Tree and pick off a couple of buds."

"Aragorn and Gandalf should involve themselves in the fight too," said Merry "then the guards will really need to help."

"What about us?" asked Frodo.

"We can call the guards over to help," said Pippin.

"What about me?" asked Gimli.

"You can, err, look after Balian?" suggested Aragorn.

"What?!" said the dwarf. "I'm not his nurse!"

"I have to tell him this when he wakes up," said Legolas. The elf had a gleam in his eye. "Nanny Balian and Nurse Gimli, the invincible pair."

"You are going to be in so much trouble when the lad wakes up," growled Gimli. "Wait and see, elf."

* * *

It was duty as usual for the four Guards of the White Tree, or so they had thought. They could see and hear quite clearly the bickering between Lord Faramir and Éomer of Rohan and the two were coming to blows while Lady Éowyn and their friends tried to pull them apart, to no avail. The men went down in a heap. "Somebody help!" shouted Peregrin Took, the Halfling guard of the Citadel. There was no one else around so the guards of the White Tree left their posts. 

"Quickly!" said another Halfling, an esquire of Rohan. "The Ringbearer's underneath them!"

"Mr. Frodo!" cried the Ringbearer's companion.

While the guards were busy with the 'fight', Legolas sneaked out from his hiding place and ran to the tree. He quickly plucked a handful of unopened buds and ran off with them towards the Houses of Healing.

The guards had managed to pull the quarrelling lords apart, wondering how they could've cooperated to destroy the enemy if they could come to blows so quickly over a grievance which none of them could remember. They went back to their posts, none the wiser as to what had happened to the Tree and its buds.

* * *

In the Houses of Healing, Éomer pressed a cold wet cloth to a bruise on his face where someone had accidentally kicked him. Aragorn was grinding the buds to a pulp while the others watched on. He added water to the paste then spooned it into Balian's mouth. There was no response. Some of the precious liquid trickled from the sides of the young man's mouth. Most of it just stayed inside. Frowning, Aragorn massaged Balian's neck to induce a response. Balian's throat moved as he swallowed. The King repeated the procedure until the blacksmith had downed most of the mixture. 

"Now what do we do?" said Gimli.

"We wait," said Aragorn.

* * *

_Balian could see his own body below him. His friends were crowded around his bedside. He could hardly recognize himself. He looked as if he was wasting away._

"_Go on," said Michael. "It's time for you to go back."_

* * *

They waited. One hour passed, then two, then three. Just as they were losing hope, Balian's eyes opened. The first things that he saw were his friends' worried faces. He smiled weakly at them. "I'm back," he whispered. 

Merry and Pippin gave a whoop of joy and started clapping each other on the back. Everyone else's faces were split by grins. Éowyn bent down to kiss his forehead. "Welcome back," she said.

"How do you feel, Balian?" asked Aragorn.

"Great, as usual," muttered Gimli.

"I feel fine," said Balian.

"No, really," said Aragorn.

"My belly hurts," admitted Balian.

"So it should," said Legolas.

"You had this great big nasty spear in you," said Merry. "I wanted to warn you but I wasn't quick enough."

"You're never quick enough, Merry," said Pippin.

"Oh, be quiet, Pip."

"And Guy?" said Balian.

"In prison" said Gimli with a satisfied smile. "We didn't want to judge him until you woke up or...well, you know."

"What do you want to do with him?" said Faramir.

"Kill him," said Éowyn.

"Have him hung, drawn and quartered," suggested Éomer.

"I am only a man," said Balian. "Who am I to judge?"

"He can't go unpunished," said Aragorn.

"Maybe we should discuss this later," said Legolas, noting the fact that Balian's eyes were about to close again. "He's tired."

"So he is," said Gandalf. "Get some rest, my boy. You deserve it."

Balian's friends filed out one by one. Legolas was the last to go. He glanced back and smiled. Te man had fallen into a deep healing sleep.

* * *

For the first twenty days, Balian spent most of his time sleeping. His friends fed him broth and other easy to digest foods. He could not remember much about those first twenty days but the pain in his abdomen was predominant, although it diminished as time passed. On the twenty-first day, the man stayed awake long enough to hold a decent conversation with Aragorn. The topic was Guy. They finally decided to exile him to the lands east of Mordor. The King of Gondor felt pity for the nomadic peoples who lived there. It was Legolas and Gimli along with the hobbits who spent the most time with Balian. Aragorn was busy preparing for his coronation which was to take place two months after the fall of Mordor. The elf and dwarf regaled the bored young man with amusing tales of how the former ranger complained about ceremonial robes and keeping clean. Frodo told the story of his journey to Mordor. The blacksmith shuddered when the Ringbearer described the Dark Land. He wouldn't go there even if someone offered him a kingdom. 

The day of Aragorn's coronation arrived. Balian demanded to be allowed to see it. The healers relented after much cajoling and he was carried out on a litter. Legolas had disappeared, probably to greet the elven delegations from Lothlorien and Rivendell. He himself represented his nation of Greenwood. Gimli was in charge of bearing the crown and Gandalf was to do the crowning.

Petals rained down from the White Tree as Aragorn walked up the steps and knelt before where the White Wizard stood, in front of the doors of the Citadel. The sky was clear. All the darkness of Mordor had been chased away. It was strange to see Aragorn with neatly combed hair and arrayed in such fine garments. The man looked uncomfortable in his new station. The gathered witnesses watched in awe as Gandalf placed the crown on Aragorn's dark head. "Now come the days of the King," he declared. King Aragorn stood and turned to face his people.

"This day does not belong only to one man," he said "but to all. Let us together rebuild this world which we will share in the days of peace." The King took a breath, and then began to sing in elvish. The crowds listened in rapture, Balian included, although he did not understand a single word. There weren't many kings who would sing for their people.

The song finished, and the King's subjects cleared a path to allow him through to greet the elven delegations, led by Legolas as a prince of Greenwood arrayed in silver. A simple silver circlet rested on the elf's golden head and Balian thought he looked very similar to the angels that he had seen. Legolas stopped before Aragorn. The two of them placed their hands on each other's shoulders. The King of Men spoke to the elven prince in a voice so soft that only Legolas could hear what was being said. The elf smiled secretively and glanced behind. Another delegation, led by an older elf with dark hair was coming through. Aragorn let his hand fall away from Legolas' shoulder and Legolas stepped aside to let the man pass.

Balian's eyes widened as the loveliest woman he had ever seen came up to greet Aragorn. She bore a standard with the White Tree and seven stars. She dipped her head in submission to the King. The blacksmith could see that her ears were pointed and realized that she was an elf. Aragorn took the standard away from her and lifted her face with his other hand so that he could look into her eyes. He handed the standard to someone nearby then brought his lips to the woman's in a passionate kiss. Cheers and wolf-whistles erupted. The joyous noise was deafening. 'So this is the new Queen of Gondor,' thought Balian. 'Aragorn is a lucky man.'

The King and his new Queen broke apart, breathless. Hand in hand, they walked through the crowd, greeting their subjects and their friends. Aragorn stopped before where Balian was and smiled warmly down at the younger man. "I knew you would be able to persuade the healers to let you come, my friend," said the newly crowned King of Gondor.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," said Balian with a grin.

"If you hadn't defended this city in its hour of greatest peril, I might not be crowned here today," said the King. He bowed his head to Balian. "Thank you."

Balian blushed as the crowd around him followed Aragorn's example and honoured him as the defender of Minas Tirith. He caught Legolas' eye. The elf gave him a wink, as if to tell him to relax. The blacksmith looked across the sea of heads. The gratitude of the crowds and the King overwhelmed him. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I could not have done what I have done without the help and trust of the people of Minas Tirith," he said. "This credit belongs not only to me but to all who fought the evil. We should thank every man, woman and child who shed blood and sweat so that we can live in days of peace."

"Hear! Hear!" shouted a man from within the crowd. Soon, unanimous cheering filled the city of Minas Tirith.

* * *

**Epilogue**

With the King crowned and married, life returned to normal in the White City. Balian grew bored very quickly now that his health was improving and his friends no longer spent so much time with him as they were occupied with their own business. Legolas often stared towards the sea with a wistfulness that bordered on pain. Balian did not understand what was wrong with the elf until Gandalf tried to explain it to him. Afterwards, he was as confused as ever but at least he now knew that Legolas' affliction was called Sea-longing.

Five months after Balian took his wound, he was discharged from the Houses of Healing, much to his delight and that of the healers. Immediately, Legolas invited him to go sailing with him along the shores of Dol Amroth. Prince Imrahil had extended an invitation to all the Fellowship, but only Legolas and Balian took up his offer. The hobbits longed for home and buried under his workload, Aragorn could not leave Minas Tirith. Gimli had no desire to sail on the ocean and was busy planning a new gate for the White City.

The sea had seemed calm but the weather changed with unnatural speed. Soon, Legolas and Balian were struggling to keep their vessel afloat. The boat capsized just as a whirlpool formed. The elf and the man clung on grimly to a piece of flotsam as they were sucked downwards into the depths. Water closed in over their heads and flooded their nostrils. Then they found themselves on the surface again with no land in sight. The sun was just rising and in the distance, they could see a ship...

**Fin**

_**Stay Tuned...**_

_**(Balian Voice-over)**_WHAT MAN IS A MAN WHO DOES NOT MAKE THE WORLD BETTER?

**Balian: **Fire!

_Balls of fire fall among the Greek army_

_**(Cassandra Voice-over)**_YOU WERE SENT TO SAVE TROY...

_Barbossa fights a Greek. _

**Balian: **That will be the death of you!

_Ragetti and Pintel peer at something. _

**Calchas: **A sacrifice must be made!

_Balian is bound and on his knees._

_Silhouette of someone stabbing downwards with a knife. _

**Calchas: **They must pay!

_Hector fights Achilles._

_Legolas struggles against someone holding him back. _

_Jack shrugs and grins. _

_Will fights a Greek._

_Paris shoots an arrow._

_**From the author of CHANCE ENCOUNTER comes**_

**CHANCE ENCOUNTER: PIRATE KINGDOM OF TROY**

_**COMING TO FF-NET **_

_**3 August 2007 **_

_**(PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN SECTION)**_

**A/N: **It's over. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. You guys were the driving force behind all the chapters after the first one. Well, you guys and the characters in the story. Now I can work on the sequel, which will be fun (read: insane).

**Still to come...**

WE KNOW THE MAN WHO IS THE KNIGHT...

_Balian turns. He is in the livery of Jerusalem._

WE KNOW THE BLACKSMITH WHO BECAME THE KNIGHT...

_Balian hammers on a piece of hot metal in his forge. _

BUT DO WE KNOW THE BOY WHO GREW UP TO BECOME THE BLACKSMITH?

_A woman kisses a dark-haired man._

_A priest baptizes a baby in a dark church. _

_A group of children torment a dark-haired boy._

_A dark-haired adolescent stares at a girl. _

THIS IS HIS STORY...

_**From the author of CHANCE ENCOUNTER comes**_

**PRELUDE TO HEAVEN**

**NOW ON FF-NET**

**_(KINGDOM OF HEAVEN _SECTION)**

10


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